


Blue Bananas in the Moonlight - and Selections from the Goblin Kingdom

by shadow13



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Abduction, Angst and Humor, F/M, Light Bondage, Loss of Virginity, Mild Kink, Mildly Dubious Consent, Musicals, Older Man/Younger Woman
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 17:25:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 79,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2781554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow13/pseuds/shadow13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The new Goblin Queen is unhappy, and it's up to Bugwit, Nogtwit and Wog to find out why. Light-hearted adventures do NOT ensue. Rated for peachiness and Slightly Evil Jareth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blue Bananas in the Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> I hate “Cats,” but maybe that's appropriate here.  
> Be careful of the genres here, people! It's humor/angst, and I know that seems weird, but trust me on it! It's not quite dubious consent, but it is a little iffy, so consider yourselves warned!

The goblins had never had a Queen before, and they found this development exciting, stimulating, promising and appetite inducing.

That last category, however, may have been irrelevant. Most things were appetite inducing for goblins.

The older, smarter, better made goblins that tended the King's Library did their best to correct this notion: there, in fact,  _ had  _ been Goblin Queens in the past, though it was long ago, and before the reign of King Jareth. This last point had been a bone of contention.

“Nu uh! King has  _ always  _ been King!”

The Chief Librarian had pinched his long, bumpy nose and taken off his very smudgy spectacles with a sigh. “There  _ have  _ been other Goblin Kings, just long ago.”

“...But  _ King  _ is King.”

“Now, yes. But before.”

But none of the goblins who were alive now could remember before, so that didn't exactly make a whole lot of sense to them.

But to the topic at hand, the goblins  _ loved  _ their new Queen. They had always loved King Jareth and never wanted him to stop being King, so the addition of Queen Sarah was like Bonus Round Monarchy to them.

“Pretty,” lilted Nogtwit, and he held up a few dark hairs he had pulled from the brush on her vanity.

“Smells good,” agreed Bugwit, hugging one of her white, lace gloves to his torso, which would have fit him like a tunic.

“Sad eyes,” sighed Wog, and his thin, boar's tail swept the dusty ground and rolled chicken feathers back and forth across the castle stones.

“What?”

“What?”

“Sad?” A sea of goblin faces turned to the upstart Wog, yellow and blue and puce and green eyes narrowed or widened in study. One of the members of the Goblin Guard stomped up to Wog, who, bravely, did not flinch away. This one was close to four feet tall, with a large, pot belly and low, protruding tusks. “Why Queen be sad?”

“Dunno,” Wog shrugged, his tail still moving back and forth. “But she look out window and sigh.” And Wog mimicked the forlorn voice of a princess locked in the highest room of the tallest tower: “ _ Ahhh _ ...”

Goblins in groups of twos and threes began murmuring anxiously amongst one another: sad, the Queen sad? This was not good. When the King was sad, bad things happened. Storms of ice and fire rained from the sky, at least three times as many of them visited the Bog of Eternal stench as on average, and there was  _ no  _ music or games in the rumpus room. What might the Queen do if she were sad? And perhaps worse, what might the  _ King  _ do for her?

“We can't have no sad Queen,” the Goblin Guardsman at last pronounced over the worrying crowd, stretching out his spear in an effort for quiet (his spear was a broom handle with a large, curved rock attached to the end, but it was a very sharp rock, and the threat of it alone was generally quite effective on others in the Goblin Kingdom). “Some must find out why sad, and then fix!” More murmurs broke out amongst the nervous goblins, but the Guardsman silenced them by smacking his broom handle along the stone floor. When all were quiet, he looked the others over appraisingly and at last seemed to make his decision with a nod. Sweeping his staff across the group, he pointed it at Bugwit first. “You,” he said, and Bugwit's chest puffed up and his tuft of scratchy, black hair bobbed with his agreement. “You,” he addressed Nogtwit, who tried to shrink into the crowd and become invisible. “And you,” he pointed finally at Wog, whose tail wagged more enthusiastically. “You see Queen, you fix.”

Bugwit and Wog stood and saluted the Guard. Each seizing one of Nogtwit's legs, they dragged him from the rumpus room, not minding that his spindly claws left gouges in the rock as he was dragged behind them.

 

* * *

 

 

Much as Wog had described, Sarah sat in the large, open half-circle window of her room and sighed as she looked out over the Labyrinth. It would be a warm day today, she could feel the heat of the sun on her skin, and she closed her eyes against the light. Summer Underground; she thought of her plans to go to Huntington Beach with Toby and help him catch little crabs, but all that was gone now. Every plan she'd ever made was as lost as a dry leaf in a stiff breeze.

Sarah had been excited to turn eighteen, she remembered, drawing her skirted knees up to her chest and laying a pale cheek across them. She hadn't been able to sleep for all her thoughts and plans for her glorious future – just four more weeks till graduation, and Columbia in the fall, and then on to a brilliant career – and she had stayed up till midnight in nervous anticipation, just watching the numbers on the clock turn. She'd danced in her pajamas when the clock struck twelve, singing to herself.

_“Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me! Happy eighteen, dear Sarah!”_

_“Happy birthday to you.”_

_ She shrieks and turns, and her window has come open. It's now May first, but the nights are still cold,and she wraps her arms around herself in horror; her pajamas are far too thin to protect from the kind of chill she feels in the air, and worse, they cannot protect her from who is standing on her window seat –  _ leering  _ at her. _

_ Oh God, oh God,  _ no _ , it's him-! “Amazing what three years can do for a mortal girl, isn't it?” His black boots are shiny as he steps off the ledge, walking closer to her with a predatory sneer on his pale lips. “While your attire leaves a little too much to the imagination, you  _ do  _ look lovely.” _

_ Sarah screams again, she picks up the lamp on her bedside table and  _ hurls  _ it at his head. “Get away! Get away from me –  _ don't touch me!”

“Queen?” Sarah jumped where she sat at the window, and felt for a moment she'd nearly tumbled out. She thought to herself,  _ Would have saved me some trouble _ , but by the shaking of her hands, she knew that wasn't true: she most definitely didn't want to die. Instead, she turned to look at the three little faces peeking through her chamber door. 

Wait, no. Two little faces, and between them, a goblin bottom with its tail between its legs. Sarah smiled. “H-hi, guys. You can come in.” Bugwit and Wog walked into the Queen's chambers, dragging a still nervous Nogtwit behind them, and bowed low. Sarah smiled again and made sure her cheeks were dry. She didn't like crying around the goblins. “What are you doing with Nogtwit?”

The two that stood looked at one another thoughtfully. “Pulling him.”

“I can see that,” she dryly replied, already beginning to feel a little better just for the distraction. “But why?”

“...cause?”

“Because why?”

“Queen?” Wog let go of one of Nogtwit's legs and carefully scrambled up onto the window ledge next to her. “Why you have sad face?”

“Do I?” Sarah's pale brow furrowed with concern. She hadn't wanted to worry any of them.

Wog nodded, and Bugwit dragged Nogtwit closer to her so he could lay his head on her knee like a comforting Labrador Retriever. Sarah patted the tuft of his hair absentmindedly. “All time,” Wog replied. “Look out window, sigh big sighs, look  _ sad _ .”

“I...” Sarah hesitated, stammering a little and looking from the faces of the worried goblins to the dull orange glow of the Labyrinth. “I guess I just miss home,” she whispered, and no sooner had the words left her lips than all three mouths formed an O and they nodded their comprehension. Even Nogtwit sat up – as best he could, with Bugwit not releasing his hind leg.

“Queen not from here!” They chatted amongst themselves, and Sarah watched them with curiosity.

“She miss thing from home.”

“We bring here, she no be sad?”

“Sound good,” Bugwit approved.

“Sound good,” Wog confirmed with a nod, and they all turned back to look at her; well, Nogtwit did not turn, as he was still being held by the leg. Rather, he rolled his head under so that his nose faced his stomach, and observed Sarah from his position upside down.

“Er...” Sarah pulled back from them slightly, all three sets of eyes on her. “You guys are creeping me out a bit...”

“What you miss from home, Queen?” Bugwit began with calm authority.

“What do I miss?” Sarah repeated, still not sure what to think about their sudden interest. “Well...lots of things, I guess.”

“Like which?”

“Um...” She puzzled over this for a moment, and began very slowly. “I miss the smell of fresh brewed coffee, and the hum of towels in the dryer, and...” The light was coming back to her green eyes little by little as she spoke, and she picked up the pace. “I miss the feeling of getting out of school on Friday afternoon, and the taste of bananas, and my worn out old slippers, and my brother, and-”

“We no allowed take brother...” Nogtwit muttered darkly to one of his companions. They both nodded.

“That one no good. What banana?” he spoke up, addressing Sarah, who had been in the middle of explaining strawberry ice cream cones at the ice cream parlor, and she seemed surprised to be awakened from her reminisces.

“Bananas?” she repeated, and watched as all those little heads nodded. “You know, they're like, uh...long and yellow, and they sort of are shaped like an...um...” No comparison that sprang to her mind was really appropriate – probably because she kept thinking of Jareth's pants, and blushed  _ furiously _ . “It's a fruit,” she at last said, clipping the “t,” with finality. 

“...what you do with it?”

“You eat it,” she laughed, swinging her legs forward from the sill so she could step back into her bedroom. “But you can cook with it, too: banana bread, banana cream pie-”

“Cream?”

“Cream,” she sighed. “Like, 'cream in your coffee.'”

“ _ Ohhh _ ...” They nodded again.

Wog leaned into Bugwit and whispered, “What coffee?” Bugwit shrugged. Wog did not press this reveal and instead patted her bony knee. “You no worry, Queen! We find banana, we fix  _ everything _ .”

“I appreciate the offer...” Sarah began, sliding down to the floor from her seat. “But one banana isn't exactly going to fix things.”

“...two?”

“If you want bananas, you have to plant a banana tree,” she explained, pointing to some of the swaying trees of the forest beyond. The goblins all looked, studiously. “For banana trees, you cut part of the root of one tree and plant it. Bananas are clones like that.”

“ _ Ohhhh _ ,” they said again.

“...you don't know what that means, do you?” she asked them, her hands knotted into fists at her hips.

“No worry, Queen!” Bugwit assured her, giving Nogtwit's leg a good pull so that he was back on his stomach again. “We find nana tree.”

“We plant.”

“Make  _ lots  _ bananas!”

“You guys-” Sarah tried to interrupt them again, but the trio had already started to march off – well, all but Nogtwit, who was still being dragged along on his belly, but he was waving affectionately to Sarah as he was pulled from the room. “You guys!” Sarah began to give them chase, jogging across her bedroom-

But was stopped by the person standing in her doorway, and she nearly collided with Jareth's firm chest. The poor girl squeaked.

“Good afternoon,  _ Sarah _ ,” the Goblin King purred her name, stepping forward with the long, lanky, confident stride of a jungle cat. For every inch he advanced, Sarah retreated. “I thought we might take the afternoon meal together.”

“D-don't you have work to do?” she asked nervously, her backwards motion stopped when she collided with the chair of her vanity. Jareth came to loom over her, resting his gloved hands on either side of the tabletop, and Sarah collapsed onto the small chair with a bit of a whimper, his sharp face very close to her own.

“I am ahead of schedule,” he assured her in a low,  _ powerful  _ tone of voice, and she began to shiver. “So I have come to share the extra time with you.”

“Th-that's nice of you, but I'm not really hungr-”

“You  _ will  _ eat lunch with me, Sarah.” The King's voice was harsh, his words clipped, and a dangerous flash of something went through his pale gaze. Sarah gulped a little. “Or would you prefer to dine in the privacy of your sitting room? I can oblige.” Jareth snapped his fingers, and Sarah turned her head to see her small table covered with a vast array of delicacies, two silver goblets, and a large carafe of water. “I shall satisfy your appetite for food, and you...” The Goblin King tucked two of his gloved fingers beneath the girl's chin and tilted her head up to look him directly in the eye. His lips pulled away from sharp, glittering teeth. “You shall satisfy my appetite for  _ other things _ .”

The poor girl began to tremble.

 

* * *

 

 

“Was stupid idea!” Bugwit was scolding Wog when the trio returned to the rumpus room and explained their plan. “Promising her nana tree. How we go Aboveground? How we get trees?”

Wog's long ears pulled back along his head, not liking his public upbraiding. “Someone make wish, we go up!”

“Someone make wish –  _ next to nana tree _ ?” There was a murmur amongst the gathered crowd that this was not a very likely event and Wog became cross.

“So we make wish! We wish to go up and get tree!” There was a startled gasp amongst the others, and dozens of eyes fixed on Wog and his  _ audacious  _ plan.

After a moment or two of consideration, the Guardsman shook his head. “King no like.”

“Is for Queen?” Nogtwit offered from his position on the ground, behind Bugwit. More discussion was had on this, and it was generally decided that, yes, for the Queen, His Majesty might be a bit more lenient with the rules.

A young she-goblin by the name of Tweezledown – with the loveliest yellow teeth – stepped bashfully forward. “Me wish you could go Aboveground, get present for Queen?”

The magic that made up the atmosphere of the Underground seemed to waver slightly at this request, but must have decided they were more or less the Right Words, and the trio of goblins disappeared with a small, “Pop, pop,  _ pop _ !”

 

* * *

 

 

Banana trees were not used to being so violently handled as this one had been by Bugwit when it was ripped from the ground in the tropical heat of Costa Rica. He had used his serrated teeth to carve a sizable mound of the root off, while Wog and Nogtwit giddily climbed the strange trees in order to bring back samples of the pungent fruit.

Banana trees were also not used to being forced into the rich earth of the King's garden in the Underground – nor was the Underground used to growing them.

This unexpected union of Under and Above – somewhat metaphorical to another situation inside the Castle – created a produce of the most interesting sort, and the little sapling thrived in just thirteen dark hours. It sprouted, it blossomed, it grew.

And goblin fruit was made.

 

* * *

 

 

The King was not in a humor to bear the shouting he could hear coming from his Throne Room. “I'll kill them,” he muttered darkly to himself, giving a stray chicken a vicious kick that sent it flying farther than it was used to traveling down the long, stone corridor. The sounds of raucous cavorting merely grew louder as his boots created a, “click, click, click,” as he strode through the hall. “I'll bog the whole bloody lot of them. Seven in the morning, and  _ screaming  _ in my own bloody-”

The Goblin King threw open the huge doors of his Throne Room, and they hit the walls with a noticeable, “Boom!” but none of the absolutely over-joyed goblins seemed to mind much. With royal jaw slightly slack, Jareth watched them: some were dancing, some were bowing before him out of deference, others were kissing his boots in sheer happiness. This last group he kicked off, growling, “Stop that, you'll make them dirty.”

“Majesty!” A round and bouncy goblin came bounding up to him like a child's rubber ball. “Majesty, Majesty!”

“What!” Jareth snapped, trying to determine the cause for such disgusting chaos.

“Look! Nanas!”

“So many nanas!”

“Bananas, bananas!”

And there  _ were  _ bananas.  _ Mountains  _ of bananas,  _ pyramids  _ of bananas stood in teetering stacks all around the Throne, piled next to walls, bananas being thrown, bananas being eaten whole, peels and all. And what was more, there were far more than just the dull yellow bananas a mortal might find at the supermarket: liberally mixed amongst these were bananas of a blue, even sapphire hue, twinkling delightedly amongst the stacks and stacks of tropical fruit. Jareth could do little else but stare – until he at last seized one passing party-goer and snarled, “Do you mean to tell me I have become King over a  _ plantation _ ?”

“'s going on?” There was a sleepy murmur by his elbow, and Sarah appeared behind him, covered only in his discarded shirt from the night before – which, luckily, was far too big for her, the sleeves dripping several inches beyond her fingertips. She rubbed a bit of the lace against her tired eyes and swayed on her bare feet. “I heard shouting...is there a prob-” and the girl gasped, pulling her hands to her chest and taking in the scene the way her husband had a few moments before.

“Queen!” Wog slid down one of the banana hills like he were sledding and ran to her in excited leaps and bounds, Nogtwit and Bugwit following excitedly behind. “Queen, see! We got them, we got the bananas!”

“You did!” Sarah squealed, and caring nothing for propriety, she scooped the little beast up and twirled him in her arms, planting affectionate kisses on his wrinkly, smelly head. “You guys did it, you did!”

Jareth watched this display, his bare hand tightening on the elegantly carved handle of his door, his sharp teeth set to a painful grinding – and realized he had never been more jealous in his entire, long life.

 

* * *

 

 

It would be a well recorded fact in the annals of goblin history that the steady diet of banana mush had done much to soothe the temperaments and wicked tendencies of the goblin race. It had also induced bowel movements the likes of which had never been seen before, and would seldom be seen since; and as the sewers of the Goblin City ran to the Bog of Eternal Stench, some of the less olfactory-adept goblin scientists were able to note that the level of the Bog rose by a solid quarter inch during this period.

This was less of an issue for the King and Queen, as their diet held considerably more variety than just mashed banana, but the fruit  _ did  _ grow tiresome after a while: they dined on banana cream pie, chocolate and banana bread, and snacked on dried banana chips when out between meals. Slices of banana were served over hot cereal in the mornings, desperate cooks created banana ice cream and banana cupcakes. At the Midsummer Festival, every guest was given a large, personal banana split (though they little knew what to do with them), and along with their Goblin Ale, some of the more resourceful residents of the kingdom had begun distilling their own banana liqueur. At length, the King made very plain – and in an official address that would be delivered to the  _ entire  _ Goblin Kingdom – that if he were served another tropical fruit, cylindrical in shape, anytime in the next five hundred years, the one offering it would be hung by their toes and suspended over the Bog of Eternal Stench for the rest of known time.

In the haze of potassium of those few weeks, Bugwit, Nogtwit and Wog had congratulated themselves heartily on their rousing success, and had been equally lauded by their goblin peers. One of the Royal Composers was orchestrating an opera to be performed about their dangerous mission to the Aboveground to hunt down the elusive and magical fruit, and how in doing so they had saved the kingdom. The success, however, was short lived: always the more sensitive of the trio, Wog noticed right away that Her Majesty's delight at all the sudden treats was not of the permanent kind. Oh, she had smiled and laughed and spun stories about making such confections with her stepmother in the Above, but very quickly the light left her green eyes, and the pale and drawn quality returned to her face.

Wog was whining piteously in the rumpus room, pacing back and forth and ignoring the growls he was receiving when his spindly tail knocked over tankards of ale and banana cordial. “Queen  _ sad  _ again!” he keened, a noise that would have put a marine's arm hairs on end. “ _ So  _ sad! She cries,” and he seemed to cry in return, a desperate sound, an, “ _ Awoooo _ ,” not unlike a lonely dog.

Nogtwit looked up from where he had been lapping spilled ale off the ground, flecks of dust and tufts of chicken feathers sticking to his bumpy lips. “...we give more nanas?” he asked, but Wog shook his head.

“No, no more bananas. They no fix first time.”

Bugwit looked over from his spot on a threadbare pillow, where he had been grooming his favorite chicken. “We visit?”

Tweezeldown,with the yellow teeth (who now had suitors comparing their beauty to ripe bananas), shook her head widely. “No visit!” she cried, shaking her long, clawed fingers at them. “Queen do loud time with King!”

The soldier of the Goblin Guard cocked his head at a ninety degree angle. “Loud time?”

The she-goblin took a deep breath, and – in a surprisingly good imitation of their Queen – cried out, “ _ Stop, Jareth, no, don't touch me like that! Get your paws off me, you stupid, owl faced jerk! Stop it, stop it, stop- oh God, yes, don't stop, don't stop, ah! _ ” The goblins stared at her after her performance, goblin jaws hanging open with goblin tongues lolling out, though they did not really know why this was their reaction. The female simply shrugged. “That noise that come through door when they do loud time,” she said, and apparently, this was all the explanation necessary. 

After a long –  _ very  _ long – moment, Bugwit cleared his throat and scratched his rumpled tuft of hair. “Well...” he coughed, plucking a stray feather from his hen. “...what we do cheer her up?”

“What thing Queen like?”

“What thing Queen miss?”

Wog was a far cleverer little beastie than anyone gave him the proper credit for; not smart, not intelligent enough to work in the kitchens or the library, but he had an innate sensibility that made him infinitely well suited for the task of bringing his most beloved Queen some measure of happiness. This in mind, his boar's tail whipped back and forth with mindful agitation, and he grinned in the frightening way goblins do. “We go her house,” he purred in a less refined way than his King might. “We go old room. We find thing.”

This set up quite the murmured gasping through the rumpus room. “Such trouble!” scolded one of the older goblins. While some had gone to Sarah's house to fetch the child,  _ none  _ had ever been inside her childhood bedroom before! The only one to do that had been...

“Tweezledown,” Wog turned to the she-goblin, “You make wish again, send us Aboveground.”

Tweezledown visibly hesitated, her yellow teeth pulling at a stubby lip. “Er...”

“Five minute,” Wog assured her with goopy, puppy dog eyes, holding up four fingers. “We come right back.” Nogtwit was howling at the prospect of yet another adventure, and Bugwit had to physically restrain him by lifting the struggling creature up off the ground.

At last, however, Tweezledown nodded. “Five minute,” she nodded, holding up four fingers in return. “I wish....”

 

* * *

 

 

“Pssst!” At no immediate response, Nogtwit hissed louder. “ _ Pssst _ !”

“ _ What _ ,” drawled Bugwit, his mood surly as he kept lookout by the girl's window. The parade of detectives that had invaded her room, looking for  _ any  _ clues as to the reasoning behind her disappearance, had at long last put all her belongings back as they had been before. But all the fingerprinting and fine dusting in the world could not wipe away what the stronger of the goblin trio observed on the windowsill: the fine, opalescent sheen of glitter, of the King's magic. This was how he had come to get her that night. 

Nogtwit was not being nearly so observant, and was, in fact, hiding under one of Sarah's old, pink pillows on her bed. “We no alone!” he whispered.

Bugwit just rolled his eyes. “Duh.”

“No!” he whimpered. “Look! There be-”

“This!” Wog struggled from the bottom of one of the drawers at Sarah's old vanity, holding up a worn red book. “She miss this one?”

Bugwit looked carefully studious for a moment – but then shook his head dismissively. “Books in library, she no need books.” Wog gave an annoyed huff and went back to digging.

Nogtwit had begun a high-pitched, very pathetic whine, a sure sign he was upset, or he needed to use the bathroom. “ _ Bugwit _ ...”

“Shut dumb face.”

“This?” Wog appeared again with a very carefully bundled towel, and Bugwit hopped down from his perch at the window to sniff it cautiously. Wog's knobby fingers peeled away the cotton towel, revealing a strange, purple object about as long as his arm and thick as his hand was across at one point in the center. In shape, it reminded him of an inflexible banana, but it did not smell like one; he licked it and made a face. It did not taste like one either.

Bugwit sniffed again and wrinkled his pug nose. “What that?”

“...dunno,” admitted Wog, examining it carefully. “But it have button,” and he pressed it. The thing immediately began to buzz and move in his hand and he dropped it to the floor while all three goblins screamed and Nogtwit dove back beneath the pillow.

“ _ Kill it, kill it, kill it, kill it _ -”

“It dangerous?” Bugwit gasped, using a stuffed bear as a shield.

Wog carefully observed the rigid, humming snake from on top of the vanity, waiting for it to reveal its teeth and strike – but it never did. It simply kept buzzing and vibrating on the ground, the shaking motion making it bump across the floor a little. “...no think so...” he muttered, cautiously stretching a toe toward the odd beast. When it did not move to bite, he pounced like an oversized house cat and hit the button again. The beast went quiet.

Bugwit gave his companion a disapproving look. “No more buttons!”

“No more buttons...” he muttered.

Nogtwit was howling again, and at last the others turned to see what had upset him so. “More goblins here!” he nearly sobbed. “Big ones!”

“...no goblin smells,” replied a very confused Bugwit, looking around.

Nogtwit directed his attention to the wall above the bed with a shaking finger, crying, “Look!”

The other two pulled themselves up on top of the tiny bed and stared hard. There were definitely two slanted yellow eyes observing them, but the eyes never blinked or moved or made any more study of them than that. With great bravery, Bugwit at last smacked at the wall – and was met with a flat surface. “...that no goblin,” he grumbled, arms folded across his bony chest. “That...picture.”

“It got words,” Wog added, and he ran his knobby finger along the print. “ _ C-a-a-a-a-t-s _ ...” he read, long and slow. “Cats. Cats?”

“Cats,” repeated Bugwit, completely baffled.

“Maybe she miss....Cats?”

“Cats?” whimpered Nogtwit.

“Cats,” nodded Wog.

This was decided upon by all of them in unison, and with the quick, scrambling skill familiar to goblins, they gathered anything in the room that paired with that word or those strange yellow eyes, before the five minutes of magic ran out. The timing was fortuitous, for no sooner had the Underground summoned them home than the door of the bedroom opened, and the round face of a little boy peered in.

“I know I heard something, Daddy!” he was crying out down the dark hallway. “See? Someone's been in Sarah's stuff, come and see!”

 

* * *

 

 

The most familiar of Sarah's nightmares was, of course, a memory.

_ “You're insane. You're absolutely out of your mind!” _

_“Oh am I?” He sneers at her, revealing the point of sharp, dangerous teeth, and she draws farther back, knowing that she's about to hit the bed and there will be nowhere to run to once that happens. She catches sight of the clock on her nightstand and almost screams again: the numbers no longer flash twelve oh one, but thirteen._

She  _ is the one going out of her mind. _

_But no, she has to fight him, and yells as much at him. “I won't go with you, I will not!”_

_“Sarah...” His growl is low, it's frightening, but she tries to hold firm._

_ “No, it's bullshit! I beat the Labyrinth,  _ I beat you _!” _

_ “And here is your reward!” He grabs her by the wrist and pulls her so hard against him, and she feels like she might start crying at any second. “I have no more choice in this affair than you do: but you  _ did  _ beat the Labyrinth, and that gives you power over it. It's the most ancient rite – prove your worth and become the King's consort.” _

_“I'd rather sleep with the Pope!” she shrieks at him, struggling against his hold._

_Jareth just laughs low in his chest – laughs at her and all her struggles. “Possible to arrange, but not nearly so much fun.”_

_“I know you're lying! If it were true, you would have kept me then!”_

_ “Think we're so smart, do we?” he hisses at her, and God but she's afraid. “I don't  _ fuck  _ little girls, Sarah. Oh, physically you were ready, but your mind, your spirit...you had not matured enough to be able to handle the Queenship.” _

_“And now I have?” she spits, incredulous, feeling her weak and tired body begin to fail against him. Please God, no, please give her strength!_

_“Enough,” he nods. “You have reached the age of majority among your people, have you not?”_

_ “W-what?” What in the hell did that mean? Did he mean...because she was eighteen? What kind of messed up logic was  _ that _! “It...it's just a birthday!” she stammers and his gloved fingers wrap around her chin and he  _ hurts  _ her. _

_“It's good enough to serve the Labyrinth's purposes,” he mutters, and scoops her easily into his arms all while she thrashes against him in her thin little pajamas. And he just keeps laughing at her! “You know the tradition of carrying the bride over the threshold, yes?” He leans his sharp face into hers, so she can see the lustful glimmer in his eyes and how close his mouth is to hers._

_Sarah Williams will feel ashamed of herself forever, because in that moment, in his arms and with him leering at her like that, she feels a desperate ache deep in the pit of her stomach and a slow growing dampness between her thighs._

_If Jareth notices, he does not say, and continues speaking: “It suits our purposes. Not all brides were as obliging as you in the ancient times-” She lifts her hands to claw his eyes out, but he catches her wrists easily in just one gloved hand, still holding her with one arm. That horrible, humiliating chuckle. “Some were dragged off from their families and had to be carried into their lord and husband's house as they would not go willingly.” And before she can take another breath, before she can give a desperate scream, the world is melting around her, and-_

“Queen?” 

Sarah's tired, green eyes peeled open at this address, and she stared, unblinking, up at the canopy above the bed. “Where is he?” Her throat was dry and her voice cracked as she spoke.

The little goblin – it was Wog – seemed to turn his head from side to side. “King?” he asked.

Sarah just closed her eyes again and nodded. She was tired, just so tired...of course she was tired, he never let her sleep. The poor girl (for that was all she was, at eighteen) bit her lip and tried to keep the sound of his voice out of her head. “ _ Do you like it when I touch you like this, Sarah? How about this? Do you enjoy this? Come, come, love, how can I please my wife if she does not speak? I  _ want  _ you to speak, Sarah. Speak. Say my name.  _ Yes.  _ Cry out, just like that,  _ gods, yes-”

“He just leave!” Wog helpfully chirruped. Of course he did; Wog would not have dared come in if the King were still present. And why would he stay? It wasn't like Sarah's feelings  _ mattered  _ to him. The way he treated her, she was just his harlot to loose his passions on- “Wog come on bed?”

“ _ No _ , Wog!” Her voice was nearly a shriek, which was unusual for her when addressing the goblins, and his ears flattened back against his head in distress. But no, he couldn't come on the bed! See that she was completely nude under the bed spread? See the stains on the sheets? Let her have  _ some  _ dignity! 

Though he did not know the cause of her discomfort, Wog was well versed in how to soothe his betters. “Wog no come on bed, Majesty,” he assured her in a quiet, calm voice, and tilted his head a little to see her shivering there. “You cold? You want Wog get you blankets?” Mutely, Sarah shook her head and bit so hard on her lip she thought it might bleed. Good, she hoped it did, it would be a better reason to cry than her current one. Though he did not climb up onto the huge bed of the King, he did crawl very close to it, lifting his pointy nose to sniff tentatively. “Majesty?”

“Y-yes?”  _ Don't cry, Sarah, don't you  _ dare  _ cry _ .

“Wog and friends, we make surprise for you.”

Sarah rolled over, being sure to keep the sheet tucked firmly against her bare breast. “You did?”

Wog nodded, mouth opening in his excitement and tongue flopping out. “ _ Big  _ surprise!” he grinned, whipping his tail back and forth.

“Wog...” Sarah gasped, pulling herself out of her melancholy a little bit. So much trouble, thinking of her? “You didn't have to do that!”

“Wanted to,” he sniffed. “You come see?”

“Now?”

The little goblin shook his head. “Tonight. We have  _ all  _ ready tonight! Big show! There be chairs – you bring King?”

Sarah smiled a little, just a very little, and Wog could have purred like a cat for it. “Of course. After dinner?” He nodded hard again. “I can't wait.”

Wog spun in a circle in his joy before tearing back to the door. “Okay, okay! Tonight, after dinner, yay! Wog so happy!” And he skittered out of the room, and Sarah smiled a little brighter.

Things weren't all bad.

 

* * *

 

 

Sarah dressed just a little finer for the occasion: not a grand ballgown, but a very small step below that. A pale pink thing, sweetheart cut in the bodice, inlaid with crystals. It was shaped with a narrow crinoline, the silk skirt covered with a layer of pale taffeta, a slightly darker bow accentuating her trim waist. She wore roses of the same shade in her up-swept hair, and the King eyed her hungrily all throughout the meal. When Sarah had taken a last sip of her wine, she found Jareth's white gloved hand waiting at her side to escort her from the dining room. She blinked at it once, then rose from her chair to move without his assistance to the Throne Room, where whatever the surprise was was being staged.

Jareth's eye twitched at the slight. The impudent little...without a word, he seized her small hand in his and twirled her back to him, her skirt flaring in the breeze. Sarah cried out in protest, but the Goblin King's jaw was set with determination and displeasure. Without another word, he wrapped her arm around his and strode from the dining room to the Throne Room.

With what Sarah was sure was no small amount of effort, their heavy twin thrones had been moved to the side, so that the raised dais could be used as a stage, makeshift curtains of purple velvet hanging from the ceiling. A goblin in a stained and slightly grubby jacket bowed low before them and escorted them with great pomp to their waiting seats, while other, lesser goblins brought forward foot rests or offered trays with yet more wine or other delicacies. Jareth accepted two flutes of champagne, but waved the rest off, resting his chin on a balled fist in a decidedly bored expression. Sarah watched all the goings on with a distinct sigh of longing, no doubt remembering her own high school plays.

Jareth turned his head to observe her, rather than the bumbling of his subjects: for one thing, she was much more attractive to look at.  _ Gods _ , was she, the line of her pale throat exposed like that. It made him hungry to sink his teeth into that flesh, gently, oh ever so gently...he began to imagine such pleasures, his tongue running unconsciously over his lips at each delicious thought. He would see her writhe beneath him, smell the roses that perfumed her rich, dark hair...slip his his gloved hand beneath the line of her bodice and squeeze-

Sarah shifted awkwardly in her chair, stealing surreptitious glances in her husband's direction. “Jareth,” she addressed him directly.

He did not even blink, still resting his chin on his fist and devouring her with his mismatched gaze. “Hm?”

“Please stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what, precious thing?”

“Like a piece of meat,” she snapped, turning on the throne to hopefully stare him down. Did the man have absolutely no shame?

After a long, slow, languid moment, Jareth blinked, breathing a sigh through his sharp nose, and leaned back slightly. He looked both insanely contented and distressingly aroused. “I apologize, my dear,” he drawled, adjusting his gloves around his wrists. “I was merely thinking back to our...engagement last night.”

He was trying to upset her, there was no other explanation for it. Sarah's face burned. “Can we  _ please  _ not talk about that here?”

“Why?” He leaned forward against the curved arm of his throne, fixing his eyes on the crook of her throat and shoulder and wanting so desperately to bite her there, then soothe the injury with his tongue...He watched her lean away as he leaned forward. “Are you worried I'll reveal all your favorite things in front of the goblins?”

“You're disgusting!” she cried in a slightly higher, more tense voice that she wanted, and she pressed herself almost full against the arm of her own throne in a pathetic attempt to flee.

“There's nothing disgusting about it,  _ Sarah _ .” The girl closed her eyes; damn him, he did not play fair! It was never fair to bring out  _ that  _ tone of voice, certainly not in public! Most definitely not fair to say her name like that, in a way that practically defied description! Low, gravelly,  _ aching  _ with a barely repressed want. “It's natural and good. I might even call it beautiful, but that would do the word injustice.”

“What?” She rolled her green eyes at him, making the mistake of turning her body slightly so she faced him, and had to face the intensity of his looks. Sarah froze and was unable to make her escape now.

“ _ You  _ are beautiful,” he purred. “To use that word to describe anything else would be a blasphemy.”

“Your flatteries don't work on me,  _ dear _ ,” she growled at him, fingers tense around the arms of the throne in an effort to keep control.

Jareth snorted at her, drawing back slightly so that she felt comfortable enough to sit a little more upright again, as opposed to listing to one side. “Yes, well,” he purred, watching her eyes closely to see each reaction that passed there. “You've never been very appreciative of all the things I've given you.”

“Given me!” She was close to shouting now. “What have you  _ ever  _ given me!”

“Oh, let's see.” He raised his hand and began ticking items off by lowering each finger. “A kingdom to rule, a throne beside mine, more dresses and jewels and finery than graced Queen Cleopatra, an eternity of youth and beauty, my solemn oath of fidelity and devotion, my own robust and considerable skills in your bed, I took your brother when you asked it of me, and I gave him back at the end-”

“You ego-maniacal, out of touch... _ jackass _ !” A few of the goblins turned their heads to see the beginnings of a real shouting match; it was always entertaining when Their Majesties began a full-on argument, but also just a tad bit frightening, like a good horror film. “I didn't want  _ any  _ of your... _ bullshit _ !” the Queen screamed, not caring in the slightest when her husband's nostrils flared or his eyes flashed. “And I would throw it all back in your face  _ right now _ if I could!” She sputtered for breath, but would not stop when she had her dander up. “I hate you!”

Nogtwit had been checking the lights (annoyed fairies caught in bottles and hung from the ceiling), but he instantly dove for cover. Wog paused in preparing his costume behind the curtain and flattened his ears against his head. The whole room was silent, but for a few stray chickens, waiting to see what His Majesty might do.

To everyone's surprise, the Goblin King did not strike his wife, raise his voice, unleash his magic – or anything at all violent or aggressive. Rather, while Sarah was unprepared, he leaned toward her again and swirled his tongue around the shell of her ear,  _ grinning  _ as she shuddered at the hot, wet caress. “That's not what you were saying last night, as I recall...” he was purring. The King looked absolutely maniacal. “When your quivering thighs were wrapped around my head? And I-”

The Goblin Guardsman picked this  _ excellent  _ moment to smack Sarah's old stereo, and a whining, familiar sound blared to life, steadying out as the machine warmed up. Jareth flicked his lazy gaze in the black box's direction, Sarah sat up as chords of music she was sure she knew floated in the air...The curtain slowly parted, with much squeaking and quiet swearing of goblin tongues.

One of the goblins tiptoed onto the makeshift stage, a strange array of fur and feathers (where had they found fur?) glued to his face and a piece of spandex wrapped haphazardly around his lumpy body. He seemed incredibly nervous as three or four more goblins came in behind him, but he cleared his throat and spoke – sang? Noised very clearly:

“I has a gumpy cat in mind

Her name is jmny...”

Sarah covered her mouth to stifle her giggles as the poor creature suffered over the made-up, nonsense name. Jareth straightened a little in his seat, his hand dropping away from his chin. “What in the  _ hell  _ is this ludicrous display?” Sarah nearly broke out laughing just from that.

The poor goblin performer bravely went on:

“Her coat is of a tammy kind

Wif tiger stripes and leopard spots”

This went on some time until the refrain was reached, and the other goblins in similarly put together costumes jumped up and began their chorus, doing what Sarah was sure they  _ thought  _ was a tap dance, and looked more like the desperate spasms of an epileptic. She couldn't help it: she laughed long and hard, the first time in a  _ long  _ time she'd laughed. Her face hurt from the way her lips peeled in a smile. None of the goblins seemed to mind this, however, and if anything, it put them more at ease to continue the performance, knowing the Queen was obviously enjoying it. Jareth stared first at the debacle happening on the, “stage,” and then at his wife, who had obviously gone entirely mad. 

When this number was over, a bashful Tweezledown took the stage, dressed in a white muff Sarah recognized as one she'd given the goblins after she spilled tea down it. The she-goblin wore it like a tube dress, and the stain actually rather completed the look nicely. Those goblins who were not part of the theatrical performance were piled on top of one another in order to see, or hung from the rafters, and several could be heard sighing with longing over the lovely picture Tweezledown made. The little thing bat her lashes up at the lighting rig – the fairies had kindly dulled themselves to an irritated blue – and opened her mouth to sing:

“Mem'ry

All alone in da moonlight

I can smiles at the old days”

She paused, looking very confused, but then shrugged and soldiered on.

“I don't 'member the words

There's a part here

I think it's about sunflowers

Those taste pretty good”

Sarah bit her knuckles until they  _ bled  _ to keep from laughing as many of the other theater patrons wiped their eyes or loudly blew their noses. The Goblin King roared for more champagne, though this did not stop Tweezledown's un-harmonic ramble on a variety of different subject.

“I think I'll buy a new comb 

Cause I think combs are pretty

Or chase a pig

Or maybe eat some figs

...and nothing rhymes with pretty!”

The Queen was mostly definitely in tears, which her subjects roundly approved of. Jareth snarled at the tiny goblin who came to pour his Liege more of the sparkling wine. “Give me that bottle, you great imbecile!”

“Yes, Majesty, I get more, Majesty!”

“ _ Obviously, get more _ !”

“Jareth-!” Sarah gasped for breath even more than she had when he physically exhausted her in bed, and it made his eyes twitch to notice this. “Stop! It's too great to be shouting!” The King was about to wildly upbraid his wife, but found himself distracted by the storm of applause and whistles that greeted the climax of Tweezledown's performance. The little starlet bowed low to the ground, even blowing kisses to her adoring public, and Sarah swore she saw the Guardsman swoon. The poor young monarch desperately tried to catch her breath.

Before there could be any kind of lull in the show, a brassy, tinny trumpet blared from the stereo speakers, and Wog slid confidently onto the stage, a knowing and seductive glint in his watery eyes. Sarah's jaw dropped. Jareth appeared about ready to crush his champagne glass.

Wog was in a pale pair of the king's silk breeches, the waist pulled up to the  _ much  _ smaller goblin's armpits. The legs dragged well behind him on the ground, quite aiding in his slide onto the stage. It was very clear from the way he rotated his hips and from the squeals erupting from the audience that he thought himself  _ highly  _ alluring. A much less practiced goblin in a far lesser costume offered him a bowl.

“You want pheasant?”

Wog raised his nose in the air.

“No, grouse.”

“You want house?”

“No, flat.”

“Rat?”

“Mouse.”

The most enthusiastic chorus yet piled onto the stage, every performer from every number, twirling and jiving with all the passion possible in little goblin hearts. Sarah was clutching her sides and  _ howling _ .

“Rum Tum Tugger is curious cat!

Rum Tum Tugger don't like to cuddle!”

“ _ Enough _ !” Their King had sprung to his feet, and a hush fell over the Throne Room. The Guardsman slammed the stereo in startled desperation, and the abused machine whined before at last bringing the soundtrack to an clumsy halt. Sarah's laughter started to die, but slowly. “This  _ humiliating  _ display is  _ over _ !” Chickens clucked awkwardly, but Sarah furrowed her brow and rose to her feet.

“ _ Don't  _ yell at them.”

“ _ Excuse me _ ?”

“You heard me!” The girl was suddenly a Queen, and the goblins  _ stared _ . “They were having fun and they were trying their best, so  _ don't  _ yell at them.”

Jareth's fists squeezed and relaxed in a rhythmic, pulsing movement, perhaps in time to the way a vein at his forehead had started to throb. “How  _ dare  _ you-”

“You go ahead and do whatever the  _ hell  _ you like with me,” Sarah shouted, the adrenaline keeping her from experience a very rational fear. “But just leave them the hell alone!” A very loud, very palpable silence hung over the Throne Room, and it was broken by something absolutely  _ terrifying _ .

The sharp smile of the Goblin King.

“Done,” he purred, and before Sarah could in any way fight him, he bent before her and pulled her over his shoulder, holding her by the backs of her knees.

The Goblin Queen was screaming, pounding her fists against her husband's broad back. She would have done her level best to kick him, but he had seized her ankles with one hand, and continued to look like the, ahem, cat who had eaten the cream. “Put me down!” the young girl was shrieking. “Take your hands off me! What do you think you're doing?”

“Whatever the hell I like with you, precious thing,” the horrifying man grinned against her leg before biting at her thigh through the thick layers of her skirt. His teeth were sharp enough, however, that Sarah hissed at the sensation. The King kicked stray goblins and chickens out of his path as he walked to the large double doors, and they opened at a mere gesture of his fingers. The small goblin Jareth had earlier harassed was scampering down the hall with a new bottle of champagne, and the fey king blocked his path, still smiling that awful smile. “Ah, excellent. Send that to my suite, would you? And,” he jerked his head angrily in Wog's direction; the little goblin's ears went back and he actually began to growl low and defensively in his throat. “Burn those trousers. Better yet, throw them into the Bog of Eternal Stench. I do not wish to  _ ever  _ lay eyes on them again.” Sarah still thrashed against his shoulder and Jareth chuckled in a frightening way, running his hand up her thigh to squeeze her round bottom. “ _ Patience,  _ my love. I'll see you satisfied soon, not to worry.”

“ _ Go to hell, you sadistic son of a bitch _ !”

“ _ Darling _ ,” he was purring, doing the same motion again but this time with his hand under her skirt; Sarah stiffened and then shivered under his touch. “Don't make me get out the restraints and that sweet scarf we used to gag you before. Actually,” he paused thoughtfully and jostled her as though he were adjusting the way her weight lay across his body. “I know how  _ wet _ that made you. Go on and fight me, I'll make it worth your while.”

Dozens of goblin eyes strained in goblin heads, that were arched on goblin necks that peered through the great doors of the Throne Room in an effort to see down the darkening hallway, where their Queen's screams could still be heard echoing.

 

* * *

 

 

For the first time in his long, little life, Wog was  _ mad  _ at his sovereign.

The idea that any subject, by their nature subservient to their king, could dare to be angry with the ones who held power over their lives was an absolutely radical one, but it whirled and buzzed inside the little goblin's brain like a fly buzzing around the Bog of Eternal Stench. He prowled around the Throne Room like a miniature tiger taken off too tight a leash, and snarled and snapped and bore his pointed teeth to anyone who might flinch at him. Most of the others were busy taking apart the makeshift set, though Tweezeldown sat in a corner and cried her eyes out. The even smaller goblin that Jareth had earlier addressed had quickly come to angrily demand Wog remove the costume, but he had merely kicked it off with equal ire. “Don't want King's pants  _ no how _ !” he shouted, and the shot messenger scuttled away when the trousers landed conveniently across his ears to be disposed of. 

Bugwit watched the entire territorial display with dispassionate interest, raising a bushy eyebrow at all the pointless snapping and snarling. “Wog,” he cautioned, but the little creature just wheeled on him.

“It  _ him _ ,” he growled, pointing out the Throne Room door. “He one make her sad.”

Bugwit pursed his lips a little while Nogtwit threw the jars full of fairies out the windows to crash on the ground. “He King.”

“So!” he sputtered, wickedly indignant as his tail flipped back and forth in his agitation. Nogtwit tried to catch it to hold it still to calm him, but he could never get a grip on the slippery little thing. “Maybe he  _ bad King _ .”

There was a horrified gasp from all those who listened, and many angry eyes turned on Wog, who was wise enough to realize his mistake; his ears flattened against his head and he made himself very small, as though attempting to burrow into the floor. Sarah was popular, but Jareth was still their King. Bugwit quickly stepped in front of his tiny compadre before anything could come to blows, and it seemed cooler heads prevailed, for soon the goblins were back to attempting to correct their master's throne room.

 

* * *

 

 

Jareth was  _ laughing  _ when he put Sarah on the bed-

_ Not quite puts, not quite drops, not quite throws her on the bed. _

-which was one of the few things she simply could not stand, and her fingers went to his face like claws-

_ She squeaks and screams and cries her protest. “Jareth, please! Don't do this, take me home, I want to go home, let me go home!” _

-but he laughed again and seized her wrists in one hand, licking down the soft skin on the inside of her arm and covering it with kisses.

_ The Goblin King leans over her on the bed, breathing already very heavy, and gazes deeply into her green eyes. Sarah can't look away, and what's worse, she honestly isn't sure if she feels terrified or desperately aroused at the moment. “Darling,” he pleads with her, placing a soft, barely chaste kiss at the hollow of her throat. Sarah whimpers and tilts her head back in spite of herself. “You would leave me all alone? Pining here after you?” _

_“I-I-”_

“Mmm...” Jareth laced her fingers with his own, not even flinching when she tried to dig her nails through the fabric of his gloves. “You are, truly, the most passionate, the most  _ intense  _ woman I have ever known...never change, Sarah.”

“Go to hell, Jareth.”

“More sweet nothings, my love?” He released one of her hands, and made a twisting motion with his wrist. She recognized the fur-lined manacle that appeared in his palm, and he smirked wickedly at her. “I will hold good to my promise. Just one ankle to start with, I think, though. I think I can handle the rest of your  _ enthusiasm  _ myself.”

_ “Do you think I would hurt you?” he asks her, drawing closer, and Sarah tries to scoot back, but there's nowhere left to go. She finds that as he leans over her, she presses down, down into the softness of the bed. “No matter what may happen, I will  _ never  _ hurt you, my Sarah.” And she knows even then and later, no matter how frightening he is....he never does. Which is almost outrageous, because it would make it so much easier to hate him. _

Almost on instinct, Sarah's temper cooled considerably when her husband looped the strap around the lower right poster of the bed. It could have been training, but Jareth knew better: there was no taming Sarah, and he liked it that way. Her breathing was labored, partly from her struggles and shouting, and partly because her body was already atingle with anticipation of what would come next, especially as she watched him remove one of his fine gloves – with his teeth. Her pulse quickened. Jareth bent at the waist like a proper, courtly gentleman, and kissed the sharp point of her ankle, sighing over her skin. With deft and ludicrously gentle hands, he lifted the layers of her skirt away from her shapely legs, so he might kiss and stroke them in turns. “So beautiful...I never knew such a beautiful girl would beat the Labyrinth.”

“Beauty wasn't the reason,” Sarah snapped, but she could feel herself shaking as she watched him stroke the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

Jareth's eyes roamed her body, the heaving of her breast. “Of course not,” he smiled with a slightly conservative air, his fingers trailing higher and higher and closer, and- “But did you think I spoke only of your physical beauty? That is but one tiny facet of your radiance.” His hand pressed between her thighs and Sarah gasped, her hips arching against his touch in a manner that was completely beyond her control. Damn it, he  _ did  _ these things to her-! Jareth's smile merely deepened.

_ He leans down to kiss her, and she tries to turn her face, her whole body, away; however, he catches her with just two fingers on her chin and pushes her face back to him. “So shy, my love? You needn't be concerned for your virtue. We'll be married in the morning. There's no reason to hold back.” _

_“S-stop...”_

_ “No.” He kisses her, but it's very gently, which is  _ so confusing _! He's vicious and cold when he steals her from her bedroom, but the way he kisses is so soft, it's like kissing spun sugar, and his mouth just tastes and feels  _ so good  _ against her own. Sarah can't help it, she leans into the kiss and whimpers. She can feel Jareth's lips pull into a smile when she parts for a gasp of breath. “Still want me to stop, precious thing?” _

Jareth gently moved his fingers against Sarah as she leaned into his strokes, watching her pant and seeing how the blood rushed to her face – and not just there, if the soft swelling he touched was anything to go by. “Oh, my love...” he sighed, watching the rising and falling of her breast as it struggled against the confines of the gown's bodice. “You don't know what you do to me.” He suddenly withdrew his engaged hand, relishing in the needy whimper it elicited from his Sarah, but reached both hands behind her back to unhook the stays of her gown. She wiggled obligingly as he pulled the dress from off her, slipping it over her head and discarding the entire silky thing on one lounge chair. Gods, but she  _ was  _ gorgeous, her pale and ivory skin flushed like that, her growing dampness betraying her increasing desire. Making sure she watched each movement he made, Jareth slid the used fingers into his mouth, licking her slowly and deliberately from him. The poor girl moaned and dropped her head back onto a pillow, panting desperately.

_ He has her undressed now, and Sarah is terrified. This can't be happening, she's not ready-! She knows in the darkest corner of her heart, she's been dreaming about him like this, dreaming of feeling the hard planes of his body, but not like  _ this _. She tries to stop him again. “Jareth,  _ please _. I've never-” _

_He stills above her, and somehow, that increases her fear. “Never...what, precious?” The hungry way he looks at her has only gotten worse._

_Sarah trembles beneath his hands. “Never....”_

_ He raises one arched eyebrow at her. “Never?” All she can do is gulp and shake her head. Almost with no warning, Jareth's hand has dipped between her thighs and he has pressed a finger inside of her. Sarah gasps and nearly lifts off the bed – half in pleasure, half in pain – and he is moaning,  _ hard. “Sarah.”  _ He sounds like he's about to go out of his mind, and Sarah feels sweat and juices drip across her body. He catches the taut peak of her breast in his mouth and she writhes beneath his skillful seductions. “So warm, so  _ tight _...you mean to say you've been waiting faithfully for me, all this time?” She gasps and trembles. Had she been? Unknowingly? “You precious thing...” he moans and dips his mouth to her other breast, licking and nibbling in turns until she feels sure her body is about to catch on fire. “I am going to be so good to you, I am going to give you everything you want...” _

_She knows it won't work, but it's her only chance. “Let me go home.”_

_Jareth stiffens, and slowly his lips pull back so she can feel the sharpness of his smiling teeth against her hot skin. “Well. Everything, except that.” He presses another finger within her and she gives a desperate, choked sob of-_

Jareth's eyes shuttered, the deepest, darkest desires of the most hedonist fey running riot through his body. Sarah watched him as he shuddered head to foot – he really could not control himself. The girl had come to a dark satisfaction in these last few weeks: he'd stolen her from her family, he'd stolen her from her innocence, but  _ she  _ stole the Goblin King's control, even if all she did was look at him. She had to have something to live on, after all. Jareth was growling, rippling his clothing off his body, like he was nothing but an animal and could not be so restrained. “More,” he gave a husky rasp, going on his knees in front of her and holding her thighs apart with his hot palms. “I want more of you.” Sarah gasped and shot up as his mouth plundered her, the intense, insistent flicking of his tongue against her making her cry out in perfect agony. “ _ Sarah _ ,” he groaned into her and softly bit her fleshy thigh, his eyes closing again and tracing the mark with his lips and tongue. “Sweetness, I love you.” Each time he separated his mouth from her aching body, he gasped and delivered a desperate declaration. “I am chained to you and I  _ love it _ .”

Sarah knotted her fingers into his corn silk hair, struggling to breathe as she ground her hips against him. “Jareth-!”

“ _ Yes _ ...” He broke his lips away so he could bring those back to her mouth and pull her close to straddle his hips. With one stray hand, he reached down and removed the manacle's loop from round the bed post. “We are chained to each other now, Sarah...”

As soon as she was freed, Sarah's legs wrapped around him and pulled him in closer to her, and watched him hiss his desperate pleasure. Her eyes drifted from his gaze, to his lips, to the little space that was left between them, back again-

_ She wants to say no because she should say no, and she's sure she's afraid- _

_But she has never wanted anything more in her life than she wants this to happen right now._

_And she hates herself for it._

Jareth let all his weight fall forward, so that she was pinned beneath him, and Sarah ran her nails down his back with just enough pressure to watch him fall apart all over again. She wasn't as weak as she'd been before she became the Goblin Queen, and he damn well knew it. This was, possibly, the most messed up relationship in the Underground or Above – but when he filled her, when Sarah arched her back and begged for more-

It tore the reality of the world apart and made it anew. Every single time.

Everything about their time together was  _ exhausting  _ with its passion, but a part of Sarah (the part she hated and loved in equal measure) thrived upon it.

 

* * *

 

 

It may seem incredible, but goblins do have wash day. It was a mandate by the Crown, lest the City become as fetid as the Bog. Each quadrant of the city was assigned a different day to appear at the baths and be washed, and the punishment for failing to arrive at the scheduled time was  _ serious _ . If it seems not to do much good, this is only because goblins are so very efficient at becoming filthy again.

Bugwit understood that wash day could be depressing for any self-respecting goblin, but Wog dragged himself along with an extra sadness that would have broken the heart of the meanest of Rock Callers. With concern for his friend, he pulled on one of his long ears, but Wog barely even flicked his boarish tail. He tried pulling that, instead, but the response was much the same. “Wog...” he whined, while Nogtwit pulled vines and crawlers off the nearby wall, giggling all the while.

“Wut,” he muttered, eyes downcast and for all the world the lowest little goblin in the Underground.

“It get better,” he tried to reassure him, scratching at his tuft of black hair that would soon be scrubbed to a disgusting, glossy sheen, but Wog simply shook his wrinkly face.

“No. It no get better.”

“It do!” he assured, pulling harder on his ears. “We try new present?”

“What point!” Wog sighed with exaggerated exasperation, throwing his tiny, thin arms into the air. “King just break, or throw out window, or put in Bog! Queen be sad  _ forever _ !”

“...we find new way.” Bugwit's temper ran out for Nogtwit's incessant giggling, and he snapped at him, “Nogtwit!”

“ _ What _ ,” he whined, puce eyes wide and wet with feigned innocence.

“What you do!”

“Nuttin'!” and his grubby hands quickly disappeared behind his back.

Bugwit was growing cross, and he stamped a cloven hoof on the ground in obvious impatience. “You show Bugwit.”

“But-”

“You show Bugwit  _ now _ , Nogtwit!”

With a forlorn sigh, Nogtwit revealed his private collection from round his back: an assortment of colorful feathers, lost pieces of string, particularly bendy twigs, and the rare vine flower. It was all woven together in a fairly complex looking loop, and it rather gave the impression of looking like a-

Wog's eyes lit up. “That it!”

Bugwit and Nogtwit both blinked at him. “What it?”

“Come, come, we go now!” Grabbing the wrist of one of his companions in either hand, he began to pull them off in the direction of the Castle, but both sets of feet dug  _ firmly  _ into the soft ground.

“Wog,” Bugwit scolded in a dangerous, low growl. “You take us back to Castle?”

“Yes.”

“Do something make King mad again?”

“....maybe.”

“ _ Before  _ we do wash?”

“...” After a moment, he released their wrists. Bugwit made an eloquent point: it would be one thing to incite the ire of the King. It would be quite another to do so while also flaunting one of his most important proclamations.

 

* * *

 

 

Sarah had come to investigate the Throne Room, to see if any permanent damage had been done after the goblins' production. For their sake, she was relieved there had been no irreparable harm, and she picked up a stray chicken that had once again wandered into forbidden territory. Sarah was getting better at handling livestock, she mused to herself. She'd never had much experience with chickens before, and she generally thought they were kind of smelly in the flesh (er, in the feathers). But when she had complained to Jareth, he gave her free reign to institute a new hygiene policy for the poultry, and the goblins had done as she asked with great enthusiasm. They certainly cleaned their chickens better than they cleaned themselves. The odor wasn't nearly so pungent or unpleasant now, and considerably fewer of the black birds roamed the halls of the Castle.

The Goblin Queen snorted to herself, setting the chicken down on a nearby balcony. “Free reign,” from Jareth. Just a meaningless task to keep her occupied, that's all it was. Why did he even marry her? Because the Labyrinth mandated it? Her title was meaningless. She'd had more power as a teenage girl than she had as a Queen. The Underground needed a strong women's rights movement, and it needed one  _ now _ .

The girl was spared her self-pitying melancholy when her ears picked up a soft sound skipping up the great stone steps toward the Throne Room; toward her.

“ _ Majesty _ !” The cry was distant, but it was plaintive, and Sarah leaned on the tips of her toes with interest. “ _ Queen _ !” Before she could investigate the sound, the massive doors to the Throne Room were pushed open with great effort – by Bugwit, Nogtwit and Wog.

“Guys?” she asked, her brow furrowed with confusion. “Is something wrong?”

They came skidding to a halt in front of her, falling to their knees – but it was at least partly because they were out of breath, as well as deference to her station. Before Sarah could ask more questions, Wog raised his thin hands to her, gasping for air and clearly making her an offering.

It was a...a crown. It was all twigs and feathers and tracings of beautiful, green vines, but each thread and bauble had clearly been cleaned with more meticulous care than the goblins even showed themselves. Each curl, each leaf was so carefully placed – and it was all  _ for her _ .

Sarah thought she was going to cry.

“Wog...” she gasped, reaching out her delicate, shaking hands to accept her dearest gift. “Oh, Bugwit, Nogtwit...you guys, how can I  _ thank  _ you-”

“ _ What  _ is going on in here now?” The Goblin King was leaning in the doorway, his pale and flashing eyes narrowed dangerously. Sarah quickly grabbed for her crown, Nogtwit took off and was hiding behind a molding tapestry. “The Court hours most distinctly do not start until thirteen in the afternoon.”

Cautiously, Sarah stepped in front of the goblins, who looked up at her with pleading eyes. “We're just talking.”

“ _ Talking _ ?” Jareth sounded somewhere between incredulous and amused, walking into his Throne Room with a most definite swagger in his hips. He raked his eyes up and down the body of his Queen and Sarah shivered beneath his stare. “You'll find them a trifle dull for conversation, Sarah.” With a confident smirk, he stopped before her, resting one gloved finger on her soft cheek. “You'd find your time much more... _ nicely  _ occupied with me.”

Her eyes were downcast. “I just-”

He followed her looks – noticed the crown. “What  _ is  _ that disgusting bird's nest you're holding?”

“Not nest!” Wog piped up from behind Sarah's calf. “It crown!” Bugwit elbowed him, hard, but Wog merely grumbled and rubbed his ribs.

“You think  _ that  _ is a crown?” Jareth sneered. “For  _ her _ ? You pathetic little mongrels. That is not suitable for  _ her _ . Watch closely.” And as he spoke, the King twisted his wrist in an easy motion, features carefully schooled with bored indifference; the most perfect silver and gold diadem balanced lightly on his fingertips, the crest of it matching the form of his pendant. It was shimmering and beautiful, and he smiled with a cool satisfaction to see it. “ _ Much _ better. Now, my Sarah, I'll just take this little-”

“ _ No _ !”

The shriek that broke from Sarah's lips as Jareth reached for her shabby crown rang in the emptiness of the Throne Room. It actually shocked him. Bugwit and Wog stared at her, Nogtwit fell down from his position behind the tapestry.

Her green eyes were wild with fire, and she clutched her gift to her breast, her shoulders angling away from her husband and absolutely  _ refusing  _ to let him near it. “It's mine, it's not yours, you  _ can't have it _ !”

Normally, Sarah raising her voice to the King in even a fraction of the way she just had would have meant he transported them both to an oubliette, not to return for several hours, and with the girl much quieter afterward – for  _ days  _ afterward. However, the Fey Lord was actually so startled, he could only blink at her for a moment, before setting his mouth in a firm scowl and scolding, “Now, see here, Sarah-”

“ _ Shut up _ !” Nogtwit squeaked and tried to crawl up the stone walls. “It's  _ my  _ crown,  _ they  _ gave it to me! It makes me Queen of the Goblins!”

Jareth was becoming cross now. “You're already Queen of the Goblins, you silly little twit.”

“No,” she snarled at him, taking a firm step forward – and the  _ King  _ stepped back. “ _ You  _ wouldn't let me be. For all the trust you give me, I might as well be your...your... _ concubine _ !” Jareth seemed very taken aback by this upbraiding. Wog turned to Bugwit to ask what that word meant, but the bigger goblin cut him off with a swipe of his hand across the line of his throat. “Well,  _ they  _ want me to be their Queen, understand?” she continued, head held high, voice entirely certain. “ _ And I'm going to be _ .” Without a second's hesitation, Sarah brought the crown down atop her silken head-

And never did man nor fey look more regal, even if he were to be crowned with the purest platinum, and dripping the finest ermine. Sarah beat them  _ all _ .

It was then that the Goblin King did a very funny thing, a thing he had never done in over thirteen hundred years of life in the Underground: he dropped to his knees before the slip of a girl, bowed his head in submission, and kissed her ringed fingers in absolute  _ worship _ .

“ _ Yes _ , my Queen,” he breathed over her soft hands, while the goblins looked at one another in total confusion. Nogtwit came out of hiding, but felt no better for it, because he was pretty sure the world was ending if his King were on his knees – and before a woman. “ _ Oh yes, Sarah _ !” The King rose to his booted feet, a possessive fire glinting in his unreal eyes. Sarah looked up at him – nervously, for a moment, and then with a far greater understanding. She smiled a little. “Come, come here.” With the greatest of gentleness, he wrapped his hands around her elbows and guided her carefully back to the waiting throne, sitting her down upon it and kneeling before her again. “My Lady, how might you be served?” He picked up her little foot and kissed the top of it, kissed her ankles and her shins. He began to pull up the hem of her skirt and kiss his way past her knees-

“Jareth,” she gasped through her teeth. “The goblins.”

The King flicked his eyes up at her, and turned his head. Yes, those three morons were definitely still standing there. Staring. “Leave us,” Jareth commanded with his usual haughty air.

“No, wait!” Sarah stretched out a hand, and three pairs of little eyes lit up with interest. “Wog...come here.” Cautiously, but with great enthusiasm, the little goblin scampered over to his waiting Queen and sat at the foot of the throne, looking up at her with a great deal of respect and admiration. Sarah smiled with the gentleness that had won her all her victories in the Underground, and lay her soft palm against the creature's wrinkled face. “I love my crown, Wog.” His tail began to wag hard against the flagstones. “But it's so fragile, I'm worried I might break it. Would it be alright if I kept it in my room, behind glass? So it's safe? I...I want to have it forever.”

Wog sighed like a lovestruck simpleton. “Whatever Queen wants.”

Sarah smiled that winning smile again and pet his face. “Thank you.” She glanced down at her husband, who still hand his hands firmly wrapped about her legs and with a  _ very  _ possessive glint in his cold eyes, and raised an eyebrow to her most loyal subject. “You guys had better hurry along now.”

Bugwit, Nogtwit and Wog were out of the Throne Room like a shot, and Wog's tail wagged with such speed and enthusiasm, it nearly became his own self-propulsion system. The roaring success of the crown, the creation of a true queen in the Underground, was going to be proclaimed far and wide that evening. Along with it, Bugwit was also going to dig his friend in the ribs with his elbow and mock in a nasally voice, “'Whatever Queen wants!'”

“You just jealous,” Wog would reply, thin nose in the air. “Cause you no got  _ petted _ .”

“Not!” Bugwit would then sneer. “I gonna go do loud time with Tweezledown!”

“Nu uh!”

“Yeah huh!”

Nogtwit would go back to happily and peacefully collecting pieces of string that lay abandoned in the rumpus room.

For their part, the King and Queen of the Goblin Kingdom were still in the Throne Room, completely unaware of what raucous celebrations were to be had by their subjects that night. Jareth had his chin set upon her knee and he stroked along the outside of her hips and down her thighs with the tips of two of his gloved fingers. “That was most magnanimously done, precious.”

“You think so?” Sarah flicked her hair back. “I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. Anyway, I'm ready for my present now.”

“Are you?” he teased, planting an adoring kiss on the top of her leg. “Are you actually going to be  _ grateful  _ when I give it to you?”

“Don't push your luck, Goblin King,” Sarah scoffed, but she wound her fingers through his silver-gold hair anyway. “You're stuck with me forever, just remember that.”

“Not long at all, Goblin Queen,” he purred, and he lifted up the diadem to slide it over her brow. Sarah leaned obligingly forward, and he kissed the tips of her fingers when he had finished. “My fealty to you forever, my Queen.” He slid his head forward so that it rested in her lap with the more-than-contended sigh of a man in rapture.

Sarah ran her fingers down his back. “You know,” she whispered, and he twitched deliciously at the sound of her voice. “Just a thought, but what if we traded off who wore that manacle from time to time, hm?”

Before the girl could blink, she found she was no longer sitting on the throne, but rather the vast and plush bed she shared with her husband. Jareth was twirling the fur-lined contraption on his finger, already missing his gloves – among other items of clothing. “Do tell, precious thing.”

 


	2. The Snow King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mzylynne and I kicked serious ass coming up with a plot line for this “episode,” and damn if we don't deserve some serious high fives. Warnings: a little more sexy times, a little less goblins, a lot more Sarah being a bad ass action chick. Is anyone complaining?  
> Also, the time line on this is....really unclear. It starts sometime during the influx of bananas into the Underground, there will be references to the ending of the last chapter, so it goes on after that, but otherwise...I have no idea. Maybe I'm over-thinking this.  
> Winter Queen gets her name from the recent (ish) Narnia films; I haven't seen them, I rock it old school with the books and 60s cartoon, but her name comes up in “Girl's Next Door” as Jareth's mom, and while she's certainly not that here, I thought, “What the hey.” I also admit I thought of her as looking a little like Elsa from “Frozen.” I'm sorry...  
> I really hope this isn't too much fey B.S. If it IS too much fey for your tastes (and I really can't blame you) skim for the sexy bits and stick around for the next chapter, because it's about ten times better, scout's honor.

“Come, Sarah, you must be ready by now. After all those bananas you had to practice on?”

Queen Sarah was biting her red lip, looking away. The King her husband had set her on her knees, on a plush pillow of damask silk. “I-I don't want to.”

Jareth had removed the glove from his right hand, and it was with naked fingers that he touched her chin and tilted it toward him. “Don't be contrary, darling.” Sarah just closed her eyes and shook her head as best as his grip allowed her to. Jareth huffed. “After I've been _so generous_ in my pleasure of you? Really?”

“It's _terrible_ ,” she squeaked, small hands fisted at her knees. “I hate it.”

The Goblin King smirked a little with his thin, pale lips. “Hate which? What I do to you?” Sarah nodded, eyes still closed tight. “Now, I know that you're lying, and I don't appreciate it when you lie to me, _Sarah_.”

Sarah was eighteen. She had been eighteen for only two and a half months. She was a _child_ , and she actually had tears in her green eyes when she at last opened them. “ _Please_.” She was begging, and it was almost enough to move the King. She was so alluring when she was simpering like that... “Don't make me do this...”

“You need to calm down, Sarah.” Jareth ran his fingers from her chin down the line of her white throat, making her tilt her head up and swallow in the process. He could feel the movement of her throat beneath his fingertips and it made him shudder a little in desire. “You are making mountains out of molehills. This is nothing – and you _will_ enjoy it. Don't you know how greatly I enjoy the taste and feel of _you_ on my lips?”

“No.” The poor girl was a mess, and she closed her eyes tightly and shook her head again. “No, no, no, _no, no_.”

His mouth pursed a little; she was decidedly less alluring when she did that. “Stop that, Sarah.” The Goblin Queen made to stand, but Jareth's firm, hard hand on her shoulder kept her down. “You're acting like a spoiled child.”

“Good!” Sarah's eyes snapped open, hot and green when she fixed them on his scowling face. “I'm _glad_ , because that makes what you're doing to me even _worse_.”

Jareth could not repress a bit of a snarl at that. “ _Worse_? Was I not a patient man? Did I not wait until you came of age?”

“You _kidnapped_ me from my bedroom!”

“You already know the rules. The Labyrinth chose you for its Queen. What was I to do? Do you think _I_ wanted you?”

“If you didn't want me, then _don't do this_.” The pleading note was back in her voice, more quavering, more the frightened child.

It made the Goblin King sigh, smoothing his gloved left hand over her soft cheek. “But beautiful girl...” he purred, brushing a lock of her dark hair behind her ear; silky, like chocolate, and he intended to knot his hands into its richness and hold her to him while she- “How am I to argue with the Labyrinth? Its power and wisdom are far older than my own. It knew what was best.” He leaned down and placed a distressingly tender kiss along the bridge of her nose. “ _We were made for one another_.”

“I will go out of my _mind_ ,” Sarah hissed, jerking her head away from his lips, “before I believe that.”

The King's eye twitched slightly. “Fine – but go out of your mind with love for me.” When she made to pull away again, his left hand held her ear, so that she yelped a bit at the tug there. “No respite here, Sarah. I've been more than generous in waiting for you.”

“ _Generous_!” she spat, her least favorite word when it came from his mouth.

“ _I want this_.”

“I want you, to...to-” she searched for the right punishment. “Die in a fire, to fall off a cliff!”

Jareth laughed, combing his fingers through her hair more gently then. “There's my little spitfire...Always so passionate.”

“Can't you understand how horrible this is to me!”

“No,” he replied simply, with a very light shrug of his shoulders. “I really cannot. I promise you this, your mother performed these rights for your father, and she _loved_ it.” The disgust across Sarah's face was clear, and it was highly amusing. Mortals were so prudish when it came to their relatives' sexuality. “And you will, too; it _is_ pleasure to give pleasure.”

“Jareth, _please_!” She moved her hands from her lap to grab him around the hips, her fingers digging into the tight cloth of his breeches. She meant it to be beseeching, it only succeeded in arousing him utterly. His Sarah could never be more beautiful than on her knees begging him, even with tears clinging to her dark lashes.

“No more words, precious thing.” His voice was husky with desire as he ran his naked thumb over her delicious, red lips. “Open your mouth.” At his touch, they parted automatically, on instinct, and he tried hard to repress his excited grin. “There's a good girl...And remember, it's always polite to swallow what you're given.” Jareth held her chin as he guided himself into her; he didn't want her to pull away, and he didn't want her to be scared off. He was actually quite proud of his gentleness. Did he not pet her hair and tell her how well she was doing? Did he not give soft instructions and murmured encouragements? And when it did come time to move a little deeper, a little faster, didn't he also warn her, “Loosen your throat, little one. Relax, I don't want you to choke.” The girl had _no idea_ how lucky she was to have such a gallant man for husband. And by now, she knew what his stamina was, she knew he could have restrained himself and extended his pleasure until her lips grew numb from effort, but he didn't. No, he ended the moment quickly, with shuddering and spasming muscles, holding her head close to his body because he wanted to feel her heat, he wanted to see the way her eyes closed as she accepted what he had to offer. _Beautiful_ . It was like his soul being pulled from his body mid-orgasm. She was absolutely _gorgeous_.

It was for this reason his chemical-induced calm faded so quickly, something else which irritated him. The Goblin King had wanted to bask in the haze of his pleasures, perhaps murmur praises to the girl who had given it to him, and otherwise be tender and adoring – but stubborn, _foolish_ Sarah did not allow for this. As soon as she had choked him down, as soon as he had withdrawn from her, she scrambled to a corner, wrapped her arms around herself, and shivered desperately. She didn't need to act like he'd done something _atrocious_ , it spoiled the moment for him, that selfish little girl!

“Sarah.” His voice was a little snappish, but he could hardly be blamed for that. “Come here.” She shook her head, the dark locks floating softly side to side, and would not turn around. “Come _here_ , Sarah.”

“ _No_.” She was shivering uncontrollably, and he thought he could hear the sound of tears choking her speech. Damn it, she just always had to ruin things for him, the impudent little creature.

She had no idea how well he controlled his temper, she really did not. Quietly, he crossed to her and lay his hands across her shoulders. She winced at the touch, and this irked him further, but he suppressed it. “Goblin Queen...” he purred, and grew more irate to see her shudder in disgust at this address. “What could trouble that pretty head of yours?”

“Look what you've _made_ me,” she sobbed, tears starting to slip down her cheeks as she covered her face with her hands.

Jareth blinked a little. “What _I've_ made you?” She nodded, and he turned her around. Sarah was struggling to stop her tears, but they slipped down her round, flushed cheeks anyway. Women... “Sarah,” he instructed her, holding onto his calm with the last redoubt of his self-control. “When you were in the Aboveground, did you not dream of having a strong, devoted husband? A handsome one who would give you everything you ever wanted?”

Sarah's brow furrowed, her red-rimmed eyes scrunched at the corners, confused in this change in conversation. “Y-yes?” she hesitated.

Jareth purred, smoothing his thumb along her chin and jaw. “Do you not have a strong husband, one who is devoted to your well being?”

She looked almost appalled. “You-”

“Have you been given every jewel, every book, every dress, every _bauble_ your heart could possibly desire.”

“That's _not_ -”

He grinned now, pressing his face close to hers so their lips were tantalizingly close to touching. Jareth almost felt compelled to close even that distance, to see how well he tasted on her ruby mouth. “And am I not handsome?”

Sarah's eyes closed, she swallowed hard. “ _Very_ handsome...”

“Good girl...” He brought both hands to the crown of her hair and pet in long, soft, luxuriating strokes. “What, then, could be the matter?”

Her eyes opened again, able to meet his and looking like she might break apart under his hands. It was...distressing. “You _really_ don't understand what you've done to me?”

Jareth chuckled a little, lowering his mouth to the crook of her neck and shoulder, and worried the spot there. “Oh, I have very clear memories of _that_ ...” Sarah gulped, but otherwise did not react, which was even more annoying than when she rallied against him – for at least then, she _did_ something. The King growled a little. “ _What is it_.”

“Don't you _see_ ?” She was trying not to cry, but the tears were slipping down her face regardless. “I wasn't like this before, I-I was a...a _good_ girl. I never wanted this, so if I enjoy any of it now, what does that say about me? Now you've just made me some kind of...kind of s-”

The Goblin King silenced her with one bare finger on her red lips. The cold outrage was clear in his pale, mismatched eyes, and she began to tremble again. “Has someone called you this?”

Sarah hesitated, looking confused and shaking still. “N-no...”

“If they have, I will kill them. I will tear their limbs off and feed them their own intestines.”

She shrank back against the wall a little, horrified or terrified, of him or of his threats. “That's disgusting.”

“ _Has anyone said this to you_?”

“No,” she said more firmly, drawing back against the wall and turning her face away, eyes closed.

Ah. Just herself then. Jareth withdrew his hand and left his finger to tap at the point of his chin thoughtfully. It was possible he had made a...mistake in pursuing this physical a relationship with his bride. Sarah had barely made it to second base by the time she turned eighteen, always proud that she put her family and her schooling ahead of her hormones and desperate, pawing boys. She used to think this had made her smarter than many a girl at school, but now she often wondered if she'd have been better served preparing herself for life with the Goblin King if _this_ was to be her fate. In his own way, Jareth knew this: he knew how chaste and pure she had been, and it had been almost _painfully_ arousing both then and now. He wanted to be the one to teach her all the pleasures of the flesh, to claim her innocence in desperate, delicious passion. However...Sarah went from untouched to a _highly_ sexual relationship in the course of one night. To say it was intense was perhaps an understatement, it was almost _violently_ sexual. And she was young, too young to understand the transition, too young to see it as anything other than traumatizing. It was possible the Goblin King had been in error to simply indulge himself in her body whenever he saw fit, despite painting his conduct as that of a gentleman lover with rights as her husband. If he had been wrong, however, he was the last person in either world who would admit to it.

He would try a different tact, in which case. “ _Sarah_ .” His voice was that smooth, tenor purr that always crept beneath her skin to stay there, the voice he used to sing to her and seduce her completely and against her will. “Precious thing. Come to me.” She stayed against the wall and shivered, and he pulled her closer with just the tips of his fingers at her shoulder. “You think you are some loose girl? You're a married woman, Sarah.” He held her so that her head was pillowed against his chest. He felt her flutters and shivers under his hand like a tiny bird beating its wings against a cage. So delicate...the slightest wrong move, and he could snap her in two. It made her that much more alluring, like a piece of thin bone china. “You have had no man but your husband. Surely married women are allowed to enjoy the pleasures of matrimony, are they not? Surely they are allowed _some_ satisfaction?”

“It's terrible...” He could feel her snuffling against him, and wondered if she was sobbing again. Her teeth bit against the button of his shirt in an effort to stop herself. “I used to be good, I used to...”

“Shh...” He soothed her carefully, running his hands up and down her back. “You _are_ good. You are more than good.” He nuzzled her hair and breathed in the perfume there and felt himself becoming hardened again. “You bring pleasure to your husband. That is your duty, as a wife. _Revel_ in it. Accept it. It will be so much easier, so much _better_ when you do...”

“N-no...” Ah, Sarah. She always had to fight him. It didn't matter, it actually set him to throbbing for her. He pulled her taut against him and heard the gasp in her voice when she noticed him.

“I will show you how good you are, Sarah mine, my girl...” She didn't fight him when he lifted her up this time, though the terror had not left her eyes. Jareth smirked; it didn't matter. He had seen that look of terror melt into aching desire a hundred times since he'd taken her to wife. The build up to that moment was half the fun.

 

* * *

 

 

Boltsneeze was in a bit of a panic. He usually was. His small, torn wings beat at a terrified rate, though they only let him hover a few inches off the ground. The long point of his nose was quivering with his rapid intakes of breath. He whimpered and trembled as he tore through the halls of the Castle, crashing into his fellows playing in the Throne Room.

“Boltsneeze...” Wog was grumbling at him, on his back and with a wad of garbage in his paw. He had been lazily tossing it back and forth with his companions, waiting for the start of another day in the Goblin Court, before the game was so rudely interrupted by the King's goblin majordomo.

Boltsneeze fluttered to the curve of the empty throne, utterly distressed. “King still no here?”

Bugwit looked up at the thirteen-houred clock hanging on the wall and shook his head; it was only about nine. “No here.”

“Then where!”

Tweezledown was combing her claws through the feathers of her blackest hen, grooming the bird in the way Queen Sarah had instructed to maintain some order of cleanliness in the castle. “In _bedroom_.” Boltsneeze made to take off in that direction, and she quickly caught him by his forked tail and hauled him back to the dirt strewn floor. “You can't go in!”

“But-”

Nogtwit giggled like a disturbing doll, collecting the feathers discarded by Tweezledown in her grooming. “Loud time,” he chittered, and goblin eyes across the room glazed over with unfamiliar instinct.

“But _Snow King_ here,” Boltsneeze hissed with desperation. This surprised the various goblins littering the Throne Room, enough so that Tweezledown actually released the poor creature. It was unusual for a visiting monarch to surprise them, unannounced. If other fey members of royalty did visit the Goblin Kingdom, it was usually well known beforehand, and the goblins were put to work straightening out the mess they created. If that were not the case, they came for a pre-established reason, like the Midsummer Ball two months before, and the goblins were given ale in the City to celebrate and told, in general terms, to just stay out of the way and not to make nuisances of themselves. So for another fey king to arrive, with no forewarning, was _highly_ peculiar.

Bugwit carefully examined the Throne Room, seeing only his fellow goblins. “Where Snow King?”

“In west parlor,” Boltsneeze sniffed with regal haughtiness. Boltsneeze was one of the only goblins who referred to every room in the Castle by its proper name, and one of the very few who knew them all. Where Wog and his compatriots might give directions to “the red one,” or “the room with the water,” or “room where blood feels all tingly,” Boltsneeze could intimately describe aspects of the billiard room, or the indoor spa, or the baroreceptor chamber (which was, naturally, a room for the excitement of baroreceptors).

“Which room west parlor?” Wog whispered to Bugwit, his ball of trash forgotten.

“I think that blue one.”

“Must wake King!” Boltsneeze was off again, while sympathetic little goblin eyes followed his retreat. Poor fool, did he not know that – if he and the Queen were engaged in loud time – the King was already wide awake?

Poor Boltsneeze was so unappreciated in his work, though he never complained. Few goblins could be more loyal to their King than he was. He polished the man's boots when he had to sit in bored audience to the capers of his subjects during Court hours; he did his best to anticipate his Liege's needs or desires – tea in the morning, brandy at night, and anything at all in between; and while it was older, wiser, better made goblins and Lesser Fey who allowed the Castle to run as smoothly as it did, it was Boltsneeze who oversaw the needs of the goblins who lived in or near there, and he that kept them out of as much mischief as he possibly could. It was an extremely thankless job, but he did it out of love.

So this was why he didn't particularly _want_ to knock at his master's door and disturb him in his rooms: there were strict rules about such things. Goblins almost never went in His Majesty's chambers, and even then were usually only allowed when summoned. Boltsneeze would be interrupting the King during his private hours, and during his _private time_ with his Queen. No, Boltsneeze didn't _want_ to do this – he was devoted, but he was also a bit of a coward. But what choice had he? If the Winter King was waiting for an audience, he'd _have_ to tell the Goblin King.

So Boltsneeze knocked – but he didn't really wait for a response. He could hear a growl from within the chamber, but that wasn't even necessarily thrown in his direction. Most likely, the interruption was being ignored. Rather than standing there stupidly for permission that would not come, Boltsneeze knocked, and then cracked the door open anyway. “Majesty?”

“ _What_?” The King was most definitely busy. And Nogtwit had been correct, it was loud time for sure, the noises only becoming more intense now that the door was open. A thin silk sheet covered His Majesty from the hips downward, and his body covered the Goblin Queen below him; the outline of her slender legs could be seen locked around his hips beneath the gauzy silk. Any noises of an encouraging nature on her part, however, had quickly been stifled at Boltsneeze's entrance. However...the King was ignoring the interruption and continuing right along as if he had no audience.

“Jareth, stop!” It was almost a shriek, she was trying desperately to shove her lord and husband from off of her.

“If you think I'm stopping just because of this, you really have gone out of your mind.”

“You are _humiliating_ me!” Ah, the Goblin Queen. While Wog and his ilk simply adored the air she breathed (not entirely unlike their King), Boltsneeze was a little more ambivalent about her. For one thing, he thought it highly inappropriate that the girl wasn't sodden with love for their monarch, which is what King Jareth so clearly deserved. And yes, she was nice enough, that much was perfectly clear, but she was only a girl. Until she was producing Goblin Heirs, how much use for her could there really be?

“Majesty...” Boltsneeze squeaked in a pathetic, high pitch. “ _Snow King_ here.”

“What?”

“Get off, get off, get-”

“ _Snow King_ ,” Boltsneeze repeated, shrinking back in the doorway.

Jareth's thrusts slowed ever so slightly as he seemed to pause in thought. It did not help Sarah in removing him from her body, but realistically, there was little chance of that happening, and she knew it. She even had her lips parted to pant with the exertion he was putting her through. “...Entertain him in some room until the Goblin Queen and I are ready to receive him.” Jareth started his motions right back up again, and while Sarah tried to protest, it came out as something of a moan, so it was rather ineffectual. “Bastard really knows better than to show up unannounced anyway...”

Boltsneeze gulped. “Soon, Majesty?”

Jareth was not looking at his goblin servant, instead grinning lecherously down at his bride. “That depends entirely on the Goblin Queen.” He slid a thumb into her mouth and canted his hips to try her at another angle. “What do you think, precious thing? Soon?” The poor girl merely whimpered, and Boltsneeze ran from the doorway in order to do as he was told.

 

* * *

 

 

“The Snow King,” was not the correct title for Tothian of the Winter Kingdom. It was actually an address that rather irked him. Snow was but one tiny facet of the power of the cold; it was true snow could be grand and horrible and deadly, but it was mostly imagined as white, powdery, pillowy flakes of beauty. He did not want to be thought of in that way. He wanted both himself and his domain to be feared and respected – the way any harsh winter would be. Snow King indeed...Tothian was the Winter King. It was much grander than that.

Tothian also didn't particularly appreciate being left in the west parlor, one of the smaller rooms that faced a tiny stone courtyard with a tiny, trickling fountain. There was not much in this parlor, but a powder blue settee, a mancala table, and a hammered copper bowl sat atop a marble end table, the bowl being filled with bright, white peaches. Their soft, fuzz covered skins glistened in the dazzling light of the late summer morning, and Tothian thought they looked _revolting_. But then again, he didn't like peaches.

It was cheeky of Jareth to leave a fellow monarch just waiting in a disused parlor, but Tothian couldn't really be _angered_ by the slight. His intentions had been less than pure, hoping to catch the man off his guard and therefore have the upper hand in this confrontation. But Jareth was that ever tricksy Goblin King; oh, all fey were clever, there was no doubt about that. Jareth had a mind of deviations that was positively _monstrous_ . The man could think, talk and act circles around even the smartest fey in the Underground. No, Jareth had found a way to put him off. If Tothian was going to be rude enough to show up unannounced, then what could he expect? The Goblin King had to make himself _presentable_ for his guest, after all.

It was some time before that ratty little goblin returned to guide him to his master. Goblins as servants, it was disgusting! They were grubby, drooling, vicious little baby stealers. How Jareth could maintain any dignity when he was the king of buffoons was quite beyond him. The halls of the Castle were strewn with dust and chicken and vulture feathers. The Castle of the Winter Kingdom was a glittering palace of thin ice walls that shimmered and reflected every possible angle of light, with well-behaved snow elves for his serving staff. But, Tothian bitterly reflected, what the Goblin Kingdom lacked in style, it made up for....absurdly...in its power.

And Jareth would never let anyone forget it. Tothian meditated on this point as he was led to the grand dining hall and its huge doors were pulled open; Jareth was more than King of the Goblins, he was the King of Dreams, the overseer of the Labyrinth, and it was to their peril that any man – fey or mortal – looked on that twisting hell lightly. In contrast, the dining hall was brightly lit this morning with natural sunlight; it looked an open and inviting space, very tall and wide. A long table of mahogany dominated the center of the room, though its only occupants sat at the far left: the King at the head of the table, the Queen to his right. They were in the middle of the morning meal, it seemed, by the dishes crowded near them, and Tothian was quietly announced by the squeaky goblin as he entered.

“Ah, Tothian!” Jareth smiled as the Winter King entered, but did not rise from his seat. The young girl ( _that_ slip of a thing was a Queen?) craned her neck around her high-backed chair in order to get a good view of him, and seemed confused on whether she should rise or not. “Would you care to join us this morning, on your surprise visit?” Jareth raised his teacup to his lips and smirked over it with flashing, dangerous and sharp teeth.

“Thank you, Jareth,” the Winter King replied, coming to a stop near his host with his hands tucked behind his back. “But I ate before departing. It seems I keep earlier hours than you do?”

“I was not expecting company, Tothian.” Jareth leaned back in his chair, sprawling his lithe limbs. The man had the uncanny ability to look like a cat, all thin angles and narrow form. “I am still in my honeymoon. You must expect lazier days in such a time. Done with your breakfast, Sarah?” The girl to the right was blushing a little. Blushing? _This_ was the Champion of the Labyrinth, _this_ the Goblin Queen? She was just a little mortal chit! Things were far worse than he had feared. The creature Sarah nodded, and Jareth extended his hand to help her rise. “Let us go to the Throne Room, then, if we're to hold an audience.”

“And here I thought I was visiting as an old friend.”

“How _did_ you come to that conclusion?”

“I must say, Jareth.” Tothian fell in to the man's left, striding along easily to match his pace as he watched him keep the girl Sarah firmly at his hand; did he think she'd run off? “I never expected you to be the marrying kind, Goblin King or not.”

“Oh no,” Jareth was smirking, running his eyes over his bride as the doors to his Throne Room were pulled open before him. “I find married life agrees with me _exceedingly_ well. It's all in finding the right partner – and my Sarah is _delicious_ .” He suddenly pulled her close to him, and Tothian could swear he heard her squeak as her husband sank his mouth to the curve of her neck. “In _every_ sense.”

“Jareth,” she was hissing, wiggling in his arms. “You're _embarrassing_ me.”

No sooner had they walked in, but the dozen or so goblins that had been waiting for the Court to open flocked about her, a horde of ugly little faces crying, “Queen, Queen, Queen!”

The Goblin Queen – gods, how could _that_ be the Goblin Queen – smiled widely to be greeted by her subjects, the first smile the Winter King had seen cross her face. It wasn't that she was unattractive. He supposed by mortal standards she was actually rather fine, with the kind of beauty that set her apart from the fey, all round curves and dark hair. But even so, that was no reason to go and make a Queen out of her! Queens had responsibilities, they had standards to maintain. This _Sarah_ was not maintaining them by a long shot, from what he could tell.

“Good morning, boys!” She greeted those grubby goblins rather warmly, stopping to pet each face, inquire after each family, and even knew each name. Tothian was very sure Jareth didn't bother himself with the names of his subjects. The man was going to allow the whole Underground to come to ruin due to his infatuation with a _girl_ , one unraveled thread at a time. It was humiliating, he ought to be ashamed of himself. Instead, he just watched his wife as she spoke to the goblins, smiling quietly to himself all the while.

“Well, Tothian, did your visit today have a purpose?” the Goblin King asked him while Sarah busied herself with her subjects. “Or did you come to simply satisfy your curiosity?”

“How you do paint me as the villain, Jareth. I came to present myself to your wife.” Sarah's head swiveled in his direction, surprise written openly on her face. “Since I did not have the privilege to do so at your Midsummer Ball.”

“I _did_ invite you, Tothian, you can't say I wasn't at least inclusive.”

“Hm. Quite.”

“Why couldn't you come?” Sarah asked, carrying Nogtwit in her arms.

Tothian's mouth twitched in a grimace. “Summer tends to make me rather ill.”

Sarah thought a moment, looking to her husband for clarification. “The Winter King,” he said, rolling his hand toward her in a gesture meant to convey she was to continue the thought.

“Your magic is...hurt during the summer time?”

“Outside of my kingdom, the high point of summer is...distressing to me, yes.”

“Is there any time that does that to _you_ , Jareth?” Sarah asked, running her finger down the coil of Nogtwit's horn.

“Hm,” Jareth chuckled, tucking a finger underneath his wife's chin. “Consider yourself fortunate there is not, pet, for you'd be just as effected.”

“I'm not magical,” she quickly retorted, and pulled away, and it made Tothian's cold blue eyes light up a bit.

“I heard it was a marvelous party,” the Winter King was continuing in all politeness and warmth. “With a most...unusual dessert?” Jareth scowled at him. Tothian pressed on. “And I heard your manners were appalling, dear Jareth! Eradmol told me you danced the _entire_ night with your wife.”

Jareth looked to Sarah as if he expected an answer from her. Her shoulders and chin picked up slightly, she smiled in a mildly proud way. “The King of the Trolls, I remember.”

“Very good...” her husband purred to her. Tothian tried to hide his disgust; what kind of Queen was this, that she had to be taught who the key players of the Underground were? _Why_ had Jareth deigned to marry her? No time to question that, though, as the Goblin King was responding to Tothian's point. “Naturally,” he said, watching as Sarah played with the goblins that adored her. “If I did not, someone _else_ might have asked to be her partner.”

“As well they might, she being young and attractive.”

Sarah was blushing again. “I'm right here.”

Tothian smiled at her, taking the hand that stroked Nogtwit's horn (for his part, Nogtwit was shaking a hind leg in his pleasure) and kissing it gallantly. “It was a comment meant to be overheard, dear lady. Please don't take offense. Or would you prefer I flattered you more outright?” Sarah's blushing covered her whole face. Jareth looked about ready to rip him limb from limb. “Your husband is quite jealous, Goblin Queen.”

“Yeah, I've noticed...”

“And most unkind and selfish as well. I heard from several ladies they were crushed not to be permitted to dance with him.”

Jareth waved this comment away, but Sarah was curious. “Crushed over Jareth?”

“Indeed.” Tothian was smiling a snowy white grin at her, all genteel manners. “You must realize by now you have married a very accomplished dancer.” Sarah looked away, could she really be embarrassed about _that_ as well? “He has always been in high demand among the ladies at balls, leastwise because he was an eligible bachelor until now.”

Jareth's manner was not cold, but it was....solid, as best as Sarah could describe it. He stood tall with a kind of glitter in his strange eyes, as if he were very quietly pleased with himself in that moment. “I told all of those women I would not marry them. It is their own fault if they thought I lied about that fact.”

“Look,” Sarah sighed. “I'm not trying to be rude. But it's obvious this conversation isn't really meant for me.”

“My lady, I did not mean to-”

“It's fine,” Sarah held up her hand, the one he kissed. “But I'm really tired, and if it's okay with both of you, I'm just going to go sit on my throne and talk to the boys.”

Tothian already couldn't believe her form of address, or that she was just going to leave the conversation. He cast a surreptitious glance at Jareth and saw the man was still smirking. How _could_ he brook this behavior! “The...boys?”

Sarah smiled and twirled the scruffy patch of hair on top of Bugwit's head. The ugly, pug-faced creature _purred_. “My boys.”

“Go along, Sarah,” Jareth allowed with a wave of his hand, and she turned on her heel and flounced to the throne, draping herself lazily atop it in her own style that was not dissimilar to that of her husband. Jareth turned careful eyes onto his guest. “Curiosity satisfied, Tothian? Or have you come to tell me just how unsuitable my Queen is?”

Tothian gave a bitter smile. “You must admit, Jareth, she is only a mortal girl.”

“She is a mortal girl who bested the Labyrinth – no one before her ever did, and that _includes_ a number of our powerful kinsfolk, I'm sure I don't have to remind you.”

The bitterness in Tothian's smile increased. “Quite.”

“Unless _you_ wish to make a go of it? As you say, she is only a mortal girl, and you are the Winter King. I'm sure you would make it in half the time. Besides,” the Goblin King was giving a terrible, pointed grin. “I think this whole little visit is about jealousy.”

The Winter King almost choked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Look at my lovely little bride.” Jareth's gloved hands tightened with possessive pride. “The most glittering little jewel in the Underground. Have you grown tired of waking up beside the same woman for the last eight centuries?”

“ _Jadis_ ,” Tothian hissed, his ire raised. “Is a woman of exceptional breeding, she was _created_ to be a consort. Do you mean to tell me you will not tire of this...this _Sarah_ in as much time?”

Jareth was smiling, holding the point of his chin in one gloved hand, the other at the first's elbow. “Never. She is the type that constantly subverts my expectations.” He pointed her out now, playing and chatting with the goblins that gathered around her throne; it was _disgusting_ ! “Would your well-born fey queen treat any of _your_ subjects so warmly?”

“I would be ashamed if she did.”

“Your outrage on my behalf is quite wasted, Tothian. Sarah was not my choice, she was the Labyrinth's.”

“The...” Tothian had heard the rumors: had it been a boy who had beaten Jareth, he might have become the new Goblin King. But since a _girl_ had done it, it was the marriage of the two most powerful forces that the Labyrinth respected – its King and its Champion. “The Labyrinth may have power, but it's not _alive_.”

“Oh, I wouldn't go saying that out loud, if I were you.”

“And you mean to tell me you just _accept_ this order? From the thing you rule?”

“No one rules the Labyrinth,” Jareth chided, straightening his white leather gloves around his wrist. “At best, one earns its respect, perhaps even its friendship. I may have experienced some initial...irritation, but it knows better than I what is best for this Kingdom – and for its King, it seems.”

There was no question. The Goblin King had gone quietly out of his mind. Tothian looked at the little sorceress who did it, the one who claimed she had no magic; _that_ claim was patently ridiculous. If she'd beaten the Labyrinth, then it had subverted its magic to her, she could call upon an immense well of power at her leisure. And yet, he could sense no glamor from her. Other than the fey touch that was all around her, she seemed _entirely_ mortal. How could this be? Sarah had goblins on her lap now, goblins weaving vine flowers into the lengths of her dark hair while she giggled like a school girl. “Jareth,” Tothian huffed in not-very-disguised disgust. “Will you really allow her to fraternize with your goblins like that in public? It is _most_ unbecoming.”

He must have said it too loudly, for a dozen glittering goblin eyes turned on him in that moment. Sarah sat up in her throne in shock at the statement, and her eyes narrowed along with all the other ones. Sharp, tusky goblin teeth were barred in his direction, and there was a soft chorus of growls all aimed at _him_. Jareth just clicked his tongue against his teeth. “My, my, Tothian. I do believe they heard that.”

“I...” Tothian adjusted his collar about his throat and coughed slightly. “Well. I've taken too much of your time. I had best be off.”

“Best be.”

Before the Winter King could be savaged by the little monsters in the Goblin King's court, he summoned a perfect ball of ice, tossing it to the stone floor, and disappearing in the shattering crystal cloud.

He'd gotten what he came for – information. There was work to be done.

 

* * *

 

 

Jareth was not _surprised_ when the summons to appear before the High Court arrived.

He was _angry_.

For her part, Sarah was torn between confusion and interest. She had not left the Castle since her arrival in the Underground – hell, she'd barely been allowed to leave bedrooms. Getting to travel to the seat of power in this world was an exciting prospect. The High Court was supposed to be the center point of magic and glamor and _power_ in the Underground, full of the most beautiful, the most spell-binding fey there were. Her curiosity got the better of her, she wanted to see it.

But...a summons seemed strange. She was packing an overnight bag in her own bedroom in preparation for the trip. It was true Sarah _had_ her own bedroom, as a Queen she needed rooms of her own for privacy – at least, that's what she was told. But she could not recall ever _sleeping_ in it. Oh, Jareth had been sure to engage the bed in other activities, but generally during the day, and he _always_ expected her in his suite at night. Or was it their suite? Sarah was not really sure. This was not a marriage of equality, that much she did know.

In any case, as she packed, her husband lay sprawled across her rarely used bed, running a crystal irritatedly back and forth across his fingertips. “You could be helpful.”

“Indeed, Sarah, I could. I could use my magic to pack your bags for you, or prove my devotion and do it by hand. But in either situation, I'll be riffling through your under things. I know I do that already, but do you _really_ want me to do it when I'm _not_ divesting you of your clothes?” She was so adorable when she blushed like that, and his irritated scowl became a sharp, hungry grin. “Or would you rather I undressed you here and now?”

“O-of course not.”

“I could take you on this bed, right here.” He stroked the soft, pink coverlet. “Run my tongue over every inch of your soft, young flesh until you scream to the heavens.”

“ _No_.”

He sat up, holding the crystal between his palms and looking _very_ interested – interested in the way she squirmed and flushed under his eyes and under his voice. Why couldn't she just admit she enjoyed all this? Did she _have_ to be so stubborn? What _did_ these prudish mortals do to so unsex their women? It was damn near abuse. “ _Sarah_ .” His voice was almost a song, and he grinned. His voice, like liquid velvet, was all it ever took to undo his poor little spitfire. He saw her eyes close and watched her shiver involuntarily. “Sarah, my Sarah....come to me, my adorable one, _my love_ ...” He opened his arms to her and watched as she stumbled forward toward the bed. Poor sprout, it was quite unfair, really, for him to unleash so much power against her. She would be helpless if he ever _really_ let himself go. Yet Jareth felt very little, if any, remorse when he caught her in his arms and swung her onto the bed beneath him to smother her with passionate, searching kisses. How could he, when her delicate fingers wove themselves into the silver of his hair. They fit so perfectly together, how could she continue to resist it? “Let us ignore the summons, my precious thing...we'll lock the gates and spend all our time making love to one another and never stop.”

He broke his own spell, it seemed, for Sarah's green eyes fluttered open, and the lusty desire that had clouded her gaze cleared somewhat. “The summons...” She sat up, despite her husband's growl of annoyance. “What does it mean, the summons to the High Court.”

Jareth huffed and lay back on the pillows again, returning to his angry crystal tossing. “Do you want a full answer?”

“ _Yes_ , I want a full answer.” Sarah caught the crystal from out of the air and fixed him with a hard look. He glared right back at her. “When don't I? Stop pouting and _explain_ this to me.”

Jareth growled a little, but sat up, and conjured another crystal for his distraction. “The fey do take mortal spouses and lovers; you mortals breed much faster than we do, being shorter lived, and so you help us boost our own numbers. The children of these unions are essentially fey, having been exposed to so much magic. But a _king_ taking a mortal bride? The High Court is uneasy.”

Sarah furrowed her brow, running her hands over the crystal in unconscious imitation. “But why? It wasn't like it was your choice anyway.”

The Goblin King let his head drop back onto the pillow, his platinum hair making a halo around his head. For a moment, he almost looked vulnerable. Sarah leaned forward on her toes, intent on getting as much of _that_ sight as possible. It shattered as soon as he spoke. “They think you have no power. The Underground is a powerful place, it requires powerful leaders. If they think you are weak, they will think I am weak, and that could lead to instability here, and that can spread outward.”

Sarah knew for a _fact_ she was not weak. But it was true she didn't have Jareth's kind of power – or Tothian's, what was that ice crystal disappearing act of his? For some very odd reason, she felt her insides clench at the thought. “You're not weak, Jareth.”

His eyes were still closed, but he smiled in that smug manner of his. “Why thank you, precious.”

“If they think I am weak, what could they do about it?”

“They might try to remove you from the position of Queen.”

There was a silence in the bedroom, Sarah staring at the King, the King keeping his eyes closed in the vein of one who is indomitably weary. In a moment, she turned on her heel and stalked to the case she kept at the foot of her little-used bed. It was glass topped, and inside it sat two objects on a swatch of velvet: a collection of vines, flowers and debris, woven into a crown, and a silver and gold diadem. Sarah touched both reverently before lifting the second one and sliding it into her hair. Jareth opened one eye at her movement, and slowly sat up to take her in. “I just got this job,” she hissed. “Like _hell_ anyone's taking it away from me.”

The Goblin King grinned.

 

* * *

 

 

A summons to the High Court was an official occasion, and it was not a private one. As the fey were pleasure loving, despite the seriousness of a summons, it was usually an excuse to hold one kind of party or another. Being of a serious bent, this one was a formal dinner party. It was a little dizzying to Sarah: there were nearly as many people in attendance here as had come to the Midsummer Ball in the Goblin Kingdom. Only while that had had an air of frivolity, a celebration of the height and bounty of the summer, the dining hall of the High Court seemed stiff and cold and a little caustic. People moved in stiff circles, speaking in quiet voices laced with haughty scorn while rumor lovers plied their wares among the different guests. Sarah had also been at an advantage at her own ball, she'd been the hostess. All she had to do was sit at the head table and smile and speak politely when approached. Otherwise, Jareth dominated her attention.

It seemed he intended to do that here as well, for he held her hand tightly with his own, raised so that her arm draped against his. “ _Don't_ wander,” he hissed to her as they entered and their presence was announced. For a girl who had designs on becoming an actress at one point, the sudden attention fixed on her was almost painful. She could see the scrutiny in that sea of glittering eyes, all sizing her up, all _judging_ her. It made her distinctly uncomfortable, and she suppressed the urge to wiggle nervously. For once, her sense outweighed her curiosity. She had no intention of wandering away from Jareth, who stood very tall and was constantly angling her away from prying eyes. His preferred position for her was in corners or against walls, where he acted as a kind of barrier to those who might have wanted to approach. It was a bit primeval, but feeling threatened, Sarah was more than willing to take it. The meal had yet to start, and their hosts had not arrived, so most guests were milling around the massive dining hall – bigger than the Goblin Kingdom's, and she'd already thought that was enormous – accepting drinks from dazzling servants and nibbling on hors d'ouevres. There were some faces she recognized, peering as she did from around her husband's shoulders, and occasionally they might smile at her. Sarah smiled back before Jareth's scowl caught her attention again, and they went back to quiet conversations on how to navigate the, ahem, labyrinthine set of social graces that dominated royal fey culture, or otherwise stood in tense silence.

Sarah was spared the opportunity to argue with her husband by the clear noise of a trumpet announcing the arrival of the evening's hosts, the High King and Queen. She had once heard creatures like the fey referred to as the Shining Ones, and with the King and Queen, she could well believe it...it made sense to bow, because she was having a hard time looking in their direction. No one else seemed to be having this problem. Was it something she'd adapt to with time, or was magic involved? No matter, the hosts had taken their seats at opposite ends of the table, and the others moved to take their places. Jareth was across from her, so she could see him well enough, but given the vastness of the table and the number of people present, hearing him speak was almost impossible. Instead, she was relegated to conversing with her neighbors; one was caught up in a discussion with the person on the other side of them, and the other was a pale woman Sarah did not recognize.

The fey tended to be fair of complexion, it seemed, most blond or red-headed or otherwise lighter in tone. There were very few with darker hair or skin, and it made her own chocolate dark locks stick out like the black sheep in the fold. But the woman to Sarah's left was exceptionally white, even by fey standards. Her eyes were so light a blue they almost lacked pigment entirely, and her hair was much the same. She was draped in an icy blue gown, the bodice edged with crystals that looked like ice, with an ornamental snowflake pinned into her hair. Sarah couldn't help but stare at her.

The woman didn't seem to mind, smiling slightly with pale lips that almost look frosted when she raised her golden chalice to her lips for a drink. “You look like a starting fawn, little Goblin Queen.”

Sarah was shaken from her reverie, feeling _very_ mortal and ordinary in the presence of so much magic and beauty. “What?”

“It has been some time since one has stared at me so openly, and then it was usually suitors. Do I distract you so readily?”

Sarah blushed, feeling fleshy and mortal and warm next to someone so...cold and perfect, like an ice sculpture. She pushed her spoon through her soup bashfully. “I guess all I can say is that you do.”

The woman laughed lightly, like the sound of crystals in the wind. It even caught Jareth's attention across the table, and he looked to his wife to see what was going on. He received no signal of reply, for the mysterious woman was speaking instead. “We have not yet been properly introduced.” She smiled, and it almost seemed a warm gesture in a cool face. “My name is Jadis.”

“I-I'm Sarah.”

“I'm afraid I have you at a disadvantage, as I know quite well who you are.”

Sarah blinked, taking the tiniest sip of her soup to at least try to keep up appearances. “You do?”

Jadis smiled again. _She_ seemed like a Queen, all aloof and elegant and regal. Sarah wanted to be like _that_. “It is not every day a mortal ascends to a throne in the Underground. You have been the topic of avid discussion in the last several months.”

“Great...” Sarah pushed her bowl away, appetite lost. “That's all I need, to be a curiosity.”

“I'm afraid you cannot help that, by nature of what you are. No one had ever beaten the Labyrinth, least of all a human girl. And now, here she is, to rule in the Underground? It's almost revolutionary.”

“That's what all this is about, right?” Sarah asked her quietly as a servant removed her soup and replaced it with the fish. “Me being a Queen? Please...can you tell me what's going to happen?”

“I cannot,” Jadis replied, her white eyes very clear as she speared a bit of the flesh onto her fork in a dainty, yet predatory gesture. “I am not a soothsayer, I cannot possibly know the outcome.”

“But you know how these summons things work, right?”

She swallowed her bite and nodded. “Indeed I do.”

“Well...it would really put my mind at ease if I could just have _that_.”

The Winter Queen took another sip of wine and set her goblet down, thoughtfully dabbing at her pale lips. “Very well.” Sarah's green eyes lit up like a light display, it was actually quite amusing, almost charming. This was an innocent child alright. “You will stand before the High Court, probably for several hours. If you have a pair of comfortable shoes you can glamor, I suggest doing so.” Damn, Sarah hadn't though of that...she couldn't cast any glamors, but she might have been able to ask Jareth. “They may ask you questions, but probably they won't, they will just discuss you like you aren't in the room. If they wish, they may ask the other Lords present about the situation. If someone feels compelled to argue against you, they can, but that won't happen.”

Sarah perked up with curiosity, tentatively nibbling at her fish. “Why not?”

Jadis smiled, a wily amusement glittering in her pale eyes. “King Jareth will remember anyone who stands between him and what he wants. He is powerful, and perhaps more importantly, he is _necessary_.”

“Jareth? Necessary?” Sarah snorted a little, but cast a nervous glance at her husband across the table. He hadn't seemed to have heard her at all, thank goodness.

“Indeed he is,” Jadis nodded. “The influx of children into the Underground is not what it once was, but natural conception is still...difficult. The Goblin King is the only one with the power over wished away children. If any of these present-” she swept her hand across the table, “-wish an heir, he is their best hope. And he knows that, and they know that.”

Sarah felt a knot in her throat and wondered if she'd swallowed a fish bone by accident. “Um, Jadis...does that..include you?”

The pale eyes of the woman were downcast for a moment, with a brief look of intense pain. “...it does.”

Sarah bit her lip and wanted to kick herself. “I'm sorry, that was none of my business.”

The Winter Queen's smile was fairly gentle and reassuring; Sarah felt certain she could like this woman quite a lot. “If I had not wished to share, I would have diverted the conversation as I wanted. I am not a barren woman. Conception for my kind is just difficult. _You_ will not have that problem,” and she actually seemed to send an amused glance in Jareth's direction.

Sarah's face burned in contrast to her oh-so-cool companion. “Y-yeah, w-well, that's _way_ in the future. B-but, um...I was told the child of a mortal and a fey becomes a fey. What about the children wished away that end up here?”

“Oh,” the woman nodded, carefully laying her fork to the side. “Provided they are young enough, they adapt to the environment and become essentially fey themselves. Their magic is not generally as powerful, but it is enough.”

“Oh...” Sarah stared at her fish and thought about what might have become of her brother, if she had failed. Would he have been Jadis' son? Sarah had _no_ regrets in this, Toby was _exactly_ where he belonged. But what of other children in the Underground? Were any of _these_ faces, sat at the table and talking quietly amongst themselves, once children of mortal mothers who had loved and missed them? She didn't have time to focus on this too much, as the fish was taken away soon after and replaced with tender slices of beef. The lavish meal continued on, Sarah barely able to nibble on the food she was given, and wondering what the goblins were doing back at the Castle. She felt a lot more comfortable around her own subjects than she did among people that were supposed to be her peers. What did that say about her? Or _them?_

Before she knew it, the dinner was over, and the High Queen was rising to lead the ladies out to an adjoining sitting room for tea, coffee and conversation, while the men would remain behind and...do whatever men did when they were alone with each other; Sarah had some guesses, but no definitive answer to that. Before she could be herded off, however, Jareth had seized her by the elbow and was bowing before the hostess. Sarah had rarely felt relieved to see him, but nonetheless she was, and bowed in her own turn. “Tomorrow will be a trying day for my bride, Your Majesty,” he begged off, rising at the waist and turning on his terrible charms. “She is still adjusting to her new life. I fear we must retire early.”

“Really, Jareth?” Sarah kept her eyes on the floor, but the tone of the Queen seemed to be one of amusement. Did these people know something about the Goblin King she didn't? “I'd say to sleep well, but I happen to know how you operate.”

“Your Majesty does me a great injustice.”

“Hm.” She tapped a feather fan against the crook of her arm, and she must have smiled, because the light became even more dazzling to Sarah. She felt dizzy...luckily, Jareth still had a hold of her arm. “Permission is, of course, granted. Bring your Queen to us in the morn in good condition. We wish to have this matter settled as expediently as possible.”

“As Her Majesty wishes.” Sarah hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath, but she gasped for air in the cool darkness of the hallway that led away from the dining chamber anyway. Jareth was polite enough to pause and let her lean against the smooth alabaster walls as she regained her breath and color. “Don't wear yourself out, precious.”

“I don't know why, but I feel very tired.”

“I could carry you to bed.” He was grinning. She preferred him like this: openly lecherous and a predatory snake, none of this bowing and scraping and flirting with other women. _Not_ that Sarah was jealous, but at least this Jareth she knew and understood, to a point.

“That is the _last_ thing I want,” Sarah hissed to him, at last pushing herself off the wall and taking tiny steps down the passageway. “I didn't expect this to be so...draining.”

“You're still adjusting to the Underground. If it's any consolation, if any of them were stranded in _your_ world for any length of time, they'd look far worse.” Strangely, it almost was. Sarah had a bit of a schadenfreude smile at the thought of those _gorgeous_ creatures reduced amongst petty mortality. _Damn, Jareth must be rubbing off on me_. “Tomorrow will be worse.” His tone and features were very serious, and he hooked her elbow again and led her through the mass of halls and twists and turns unerringly to the bed chamber that was reserved for them. Sarah found her overnight case waiting at the foot of a massive bed, almost as big as the one in her chamber back at the Castle. The High Court certainly possessed wealth and power in spades...

Sarah turned to face Jareth as he shut the door and began to peel the gloves off his hands. “Do you think anyone is going to challenge us – me – tomorrow?”

Jareth raised an eyebrow at her, dropping the gloves onto a waiting table and slowly unbuttoning his coat. He must have noticed the slip, but he said nothing. “Is _that_ what you were chatting with Jadis about?”

Sarah nodded, though she was not wriggling out of her rather uncomfortable gown just yet. “She's Tothian's wife, isn't she? The Winter Queen?”

“She has that honor, yes.”

Sarah sighed, sitting at a vanity and pulling the many pins from her hair, rummaging in her case for her hair brush. “I don't know what to think about that guy; one minute he was smiling and calling me beautiful, the next he was saying shit about the goblins. Which side was real? I'm leaning on the latter...but Jadis seemed nice. Oh!”

Sarah's surprised cry was due to her husband catching her hands in his own, gently prying the brush from her fingers, and running it down her hair. The Goblin Queen blushed a deep pink and fixed her eyes in the mirror; however, that did not help, because it afforded her the perfect view of the King's rapturous face, and his own strange eyes would occasionally catch her gaze in the glass, and she felt trapped there, between him and the vanity. “I would remind you, precious thing, that not everything is as it seems. And while I find your vulgarities charmingly rustic, I'd advise you not take that tone tomorrow.”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “I know not to swear at _royalty_ , thanks. Well, unless it's you.” She smiled a little to watch him snort.

Jareth simply lay the brush to the side, running his fingers through her smoothed locks of dark hair. “There. Now you may undress, my love.”

“I think you mean, 'change for bed.'”

“I mean _exactly_ as I say, Sarah, dear,” he purred, pulling her up from the vanity bench by the elbows and dropping his mouth to feast on the exposed curve of her throat. Ah, far more delicious than the brandy he'd have been suffering through with those fools in the dining hall. So many men liked to pretend their wives did not affect them, and perhaps it was true – but that was only because they were not married to his Sarah. And he did not intend to let anyone go near her, either. That delightful, contrary little minx...he didn't love her fighting, but he _did_ love her spirit, it aroused him in ways no fey woman ever had. Before she could notice or try to stop him, Jareth had slid his hands around to her back and had expertly undone the laces of her gown, sliding it off her shoulders so he might taste the skin there as well.

“ _Jareth_ .” Was it a hiss of disapproval, or a pant of desperation? Even Sarah couldn't be sure. She would be the last woman in the Underground to _ever_ admit to enjoying the things the King did to her. “We're in _someone else's_ house.”

“Adds to the illicit thrill, doesn't it?” He grinned at her, pulling the gown so it bunched around her hips. She tried to stop him, but his mouth had already found her breast in hungry anticipation, and he reveled in her choked gasp. Poor Sarah. She could fight him all she wanted, but he knew what kind of effect he had on her. Twisting one arm so that it looped around her thigh, he hauled her close and laid her on the bed, stripping the shirt from his chest. Another chance to enjoy his matrimony.

 

* * *

 

 

Tothian had settled next to his wife in the velvet-lined stands that ranged the Throne Room of the High Court. Most other courts in the Underground did not have seating, they didn't need to. They rarely hosted other monarchs. But this was a place for the highest to find justice, to discuss matters of safety and prosperity of the interconnected kingdoms. The bleachers ringed the Throne Room, with gaps at the corners for those present to ascend or descend at the level of the doors. The only side of the room without these risers was the one that housed the thrones of the High King and Queen; grand chairs whose backs of gold stretched toward the ceiling, lined in purple and red velvet, dripping silver and ermine. These seats were lower than the highest point of the stands, but it really didn't matter. It simply assured that every eye was fixed on the most powerful spot in the Underground – at least, the most powerful for the fey.

Aside from their hosts, the High King and Queen, it was the Goblin Kingdom royal couple that were last to enter. Tothian watched them as they strode in through one of the massive sets of doors, as everyone did. The girl Sarah was swathed in grey silk, black beads dotting the bodice and making her look very serious and regal for one so young. He was willing to bet the silly little chit had no idea that her husband had so obviously dressed to match her, himself in a grey shirt and jacket with black trousers and boots. He noticed she was wearing a silver and gold diadem, its center the seal of the Labyrinth. It was hardly the fashion among fey royalty – one need not _announce_ one's station, it ought to be known already by breeding and manner and _power_. But then, her ornament seemed to match her husband's pendant, so maybe it was another attempt at changing the fashion. Tothian snorted to himself.

Jadis just barely turned her attention to him beside her. “Something wrong, beloved?”

“Oh, nothing at all, dearest. Just curious to see how this farce shall end.”

“How cruel you are.” She smiled, but it was cold, like the rest of her. “I found the Sarah child to be a dear, sweet girl.”

“And I am sure she is both dear and sweet on her back at the King's pleasure, but that does _not_ make her a Queen.” Jadis simply laughed.

The Court proceedings began when the High King and Queen had claimed their places at the focal point of it all. Sarah and Jareth stood shoulder to shoulder – or shoulder to arm, as he was several inches taller than she was – in the center of the room, dozens upon dozens of eyes focused on them. The High King furrowed his brow once seated, a page having announced his various titles. “King Jareth,” he said in a low, baritone voice that carried naturally in the hall, and swept his hand to the side to indicate a bare spot on the lowest rung of a bleacher. “You may be seated.”

“Thank you, Highness,” the Goblin King replied with a nod of his head. “But as this trial is against my wife, and we were made one flesh, I prefer to stand.” Sarah restrained a blush. It might have been romantic if he hadn't managed to sound so damn smug about it.

The King seemed to find this amusing, for he smiled a little and settled back comfortably in his throne. Sarah noticed he didn't sprawl like Jareth did, all indolent in his repose. Maybe she'd married the “village playboy,” after all. “As it pleases you. Let us begin.”

The King's vizier stepped forward, clearing his throat and intoning in a sharp voice the charge: “There is some concern over the suitability of the new Goblin Queen. She will be judged by his Majesty, and if necessary, a trial shall begin for her.”

It annoyed Sarah that they addressed Jareth and not her. “She is mortal, is she not?”

“She is.” Jareth tugged on his gloves, but it was as informal as he was with his High King. “But she is the Champion of the Labyrinth. By its laws, she is Queen.”

“Then she must have power over the Labyrinth.” There were hushed murmurs from the watching crowd, Sarah could feel Jareth tense beside her, and she couldn't help looking around just a little bit. That was something people kept saying, but she didn't understand what they meant. The Labyrinth was just a maze – a terrible, tortuous maze. What did they mean by _power_ over it? Obviously she'd won, but what did that mean in the Underground that she didn't know?

“Yes...” her husband replied in a slow, clenched voice. “But that has not been...explored, as of yet.”

The King didn't seem to like this answer at all. “King and Kingdom are one, Jareth. This is true for Queens as much as it is for any monarch. If this girl is weak, then the Goblin Kingdom is at risk of weakening. Should that happen, it could spread throughout the entire Underground, you know this.”

Sarah could not restrain herself, her green eyes flashed hot. “I am _not_ weak.” Why didn't one of these fey assholes try running the Labyrinth at fifteen and see how they did? And she didn't even have magic. It was apparently very scandalous to talk back to the High King, especially when she wasn't addressed in the first place, for excited whispers started up from the crowd. Sarah could just make out a smile on the face of the High Queen and a raised eyebrow. Jeezes, had no one here heard of Women's Lib?

Tothian felt outraged watching this. Who was this mortal _slut_ to be speaking back to the _High King_ of the Underground. The Winter King stared at Jareth and waited for him to slap her. The Goblin King was quietly _smiling_ , that smug, smirking look of his that Tothian so _detested_. The man clearly had no shame. He was going to be the ruin of the Underground. The magic of the Goblin Kingdom would become unstable, and that would infect the magic of neighboring kingdoms until they all fell apart like so many dominoes. How could he do this for one mortal tramp!

Jareth was still smiling that self-satisfied, smug smirk, and gestured to his wife accordingly. “The Queen speaks for herself.”

It was lucky the High King seemed somewhat amused by her brassy outburst, though he hid it better than his own wife did. “Why has she not been trained in use of this power?”

“She's young by the standards of her people. She has had much to adjust to. I did not want to push too soon.” That was startling to Sarah. Wait, he knew she had some kind of power? Or was he simply bluffing? If it was the former...was Jareth keeping her weak on _purpose_ , a way to have leverage over her? If that was the case, oh, she wanted to kill him. But then again, if that _was_ the case, it had led to this debacle. And Jareth didn't seem as short sighted as all that, not to her. Sarah was no more enlightened than she had been before the summons to the High Court...

The King shook his head. “It is not a satisfying answer. If she is truly the Champion of the Labyrinth, then she is in stock of an _immense_ power, and it should need no push. A demonstration is not an unreasonable request.”

“But I don't-”

Jareth cut her off with a gesture of his hand, which quickly balled into an angry fist, tightening and shaking in turns. Sarah had rarely seen him so angry, and yet he held it back so completely. “And if she fails the trial?”

The High King sighed, leaning back slightly. “No one is trying to take your woman from you, Goblin King. Of course you may keep her – but you would be asked to choose another consort.”

“ _The Labyrinth_ chose its consort. If you impose this ruling, it _will_ rebel, and the chaos that will unfold will be ten times greater than any chaos based on the ineffectual rule you fear. _I_ can keep my kingdom in check, so long as it is not provoked – what the Underground may lose if it _is_ I need not say.” With a sudden sweeping, almost mocking bow, he bent one knee and asked, “How fares your son, my Lord, my Lady? Strong and healthy? Well, I hope?”

Sarah could just see the slight frown of the High King and Queen, she could just see the distress upon their faces. She looked from these shining rulers to her bowed husband – a sight she had only seen once before, in their own throne room – and felt like her head would spin.

The High King rose, and the rest of the assembly followed suit – all except the Goblin King, who remained on his knee, a very obvious and apparently pain-endusing protest written in his every feature. “It has been decided and so ruled. The Goblin Queen will present herself in one week's time in order that her worth as a monarch may be judged. The Court concludes.” With that, he swept from the room, followed by his Queen, but Sarah thought for just a moment that her eyes were upon her, with an almost sympathetic, maybe even _admiring_ look. What did all this mean?

It was only after the others had gone that her husband arose, grabbed her hand, and began to leave the Throne Room with her. “Jareth-”

“Be quiet, Sarah.”

She growled slightly and tugged against his arm. “Just tell me what's going on!”

“ _Later_.” He turned on her with cold, flashing eyes – but she didn't back down. She was past that now. Whatever she had been before, she was a Goblin Queen now, and she was not going to buckle this easily. He sighed and pulled her nearer. “Before the week is out. I need time to...think. Not such a terrible request, is it?”

Sarah pursed her lips a little, and felt inexplicably like lightening the mood. Who knew she'd become a real wife? “I don't know. It doesn't usually mean anything good for me when you start thinking.”

The Goblin King's mouth twitched in a repressed smile. “My word, the lady is a wit. I shall put that saucy mouth of yours to better uses later.” And with no more word than that, the two left the High Court in total silence.

 

* * *

 

 

Sarah did not press him for answers when they returned home that day – and strange to think of it as home now. But what else could she think of as home? She couldn't go back to her _real_ home in the Aboveground, try as she might; but when she and Jareth strode through the doors of the Castle at the heart of the Goblin City, she was almost _tackled_ by adoring goblins who had missed her in even her two days of absence. Jareth had sneered and said she had better wash to get the stench of goblin off as soon as possible, but Sarah had just ignored him. These were _her_ people, they had chosen her – and apparently so had the Labyrinth, but that mattered less to her than this did. These people had _chosen_ her, for who she was. And she wasn't about to let the High Court take that away from her.

But she still didn't ask Jareth about what the upcoming trial meant. Honestly, she wasn't sure she wanted to know. In this case, it seemed that ignorance might be bliss. And what would she do if she _did_ know? There was little she could do to prepare, it was clear the trial would not be announced until they returned in a week. Fretting about what she _didn't_ know was hardly going to help her now.

So Sarah spent her time in the ways she often did: in the garden or with the goblins or busying herself in the Castle library. On one particular afternoon, she had been wandering the Castle, finding even more rooms she hadn't known existed, when she made a wrong turn and found herself standing in the Escher room once more. Immediately, her head swam and she put a hand on the wall to support herself. Ugh, this place always made her stomach lurch. It was the last thing she wanted to remember, but when she opened her tired, green eyes this time, she remembered one thing very clearly.

 _Her. Only three years ago, yet it felt like three life times, even then so much younger, so much more wide-eyed. And him, nearly desperate – over her, or over his impending defeat? That much was less certain. But the words, the words rang through her head like a gong: “Just fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be your_ slave.”

Sarah stumbled back out of the Escher, not as her fifteen year old past self, but as the reluctantly made Goblin Queen, and she wrapped her arms around her torso in an effort to stop her shaking. “Damn it!” She said it to the air the same way she said it then. “When did _this_ happen?”

Fear him – she did. Not as much as she used to, though, when he'd first stolen her from her bedroom window that spring night; he had _terrified_ her. He continued to be the source of her dreams and her nightmares, both asleep and awake, through all the weeks that followed, all the weeks of the terrorizing Goblin King leering at her and touching her and letting her know that yes, when you reached the center of the Labyrinth, it was true – you never got out again. Sarah wasn't as afraid of him now as she had been before being given the crown. She wasn't sure how Jareth felt about that, she honestly didn't care. But if he tried, he could still set her skin to crawling, and not always in good ways.

But _love_ him? That part she was less sure on. More...dependent upon him. She could almost laugh; Sarah thought of school assemblies where the high school guidance counselor had given lectures on what constituted healthy relationships, what was abusive, what to avoid. Mrs. Buckley would _not_ have approved of this relationship, it broke every cardinal rule in the pamphlet she'd handed out to every single student when they walked in the door of the auditorium for the talk. But there it was – good or bad, it was Sarah's life now, and she was not a dumb girl. Without Jareth, she was alone in the Underground. Oh, there were the goblins, even her friends outside the city walls. But the Goblin Kingdom, to say nothing of the entire Underground, was a big, scary world if she were being brutally honest with herself, a world she knew _nothing_ about. Jareth _was_ dangerous, but he was her only shield from _that_. She needed him now. She didn't want him, but she needed him. Maybe that was a kind of love.

As for doing as he said...that came and went. There were times she couldn't avoid it, the times she'd been terrified and fighting back had failed over and over again. Now, she rebelled in quieter ways, less yelling that she wouldn't be his, more quietly doing what she wanted and refusing to back down when possible. But truthfully, there was little Jareth demanded of her that wasn't sexual. Not that that made it _better_ , but he had a tendency to get what he wanted anyway, so she thought that really ought to count for doing what he said.

Then...was the _Goblin King_ her slave? She could scarcely believe it, but she couldn't help but think back to when he'd given her the crown and promised her his fealty forever, asked how she might be served. Young Sarah's mouth dropped open, for she had just made a very _womanly_ realization: in her hands, she held the power to make a man – a frightening, _powerful_ man – do _anything she wanted_ . Dear God, _that_ was power – a power she was almost afraid to use. But it was one she could understand, at least to a certain extent, given her innocence, and...she had to try.

It was for this reason she left her lord and husband a note in the master suite chambers: she was going to be taking a long bath and _please_ not to join her this time, she had things she needed to sort through, and she wanted to surprise him later. She wasn't sure if the note would backfire or not, but Jareth had a tendency to pounce on her when she was alone in the bath, or enjoying a shower, or even just by herself and fully clothed. He seemed to find any time that she was alone and not with him when he was not otherwise engaged to be downright offensive. How one man could be so jealous, so possessive and so overbearing was quite honestly beyond her comprehension. She was pretty sure the school guidance counselor would have considered that a major red flag as well, but Sarah just shrugged as she scrubbed scented soaps along her skin. This was her life now, she was damn well going to own it and make it work for her.

Sarah knew nothing about seduction, but she _had_ seen movies, and she still considered herself as having a natural talent as an actress. She thought back to every steamy scene she'd ever seen flicker across the screen, every whispered conversation she'd ever overheard discussing the wants of men and boys, and turned them over and over within her mind. She also had the feeling instinct would guide her on these things. After all, some of this _had_ to come naturally, didn't it? The survival of the human race would depend upon it, right? She was unsure, but she was going to give it her best shot.

This assault she had been careful to plan in advance: she'd gone through her wardrobe and selected a slim, black neglige, the cups of the bodice edged with roses done in white silk. It was more see-through than anything she'd have elected to wear on her own, but it seemed likely to get the job done. Sarah went leisurely with her hair, making sure it had time to dry thoroughly and that it would lay soft and silky against her head. She had found a huge pair of pearls that matched the roses on the bodice in color to fasten to her ears, and she daubed a perfumed mix of cinnamon and sandalwood oils at the pulse of her throat and wrists and the crook of her elbows. She'd never considered herself some kind of sexual goddess, but looking somewhat bashfully into the bathing chamber's full length mirror, she considered, yes – she didn't look half bad by any standard. Downright sensual, even.

She swallowed hard. She just hoped she had enough gumption and acting talent to pull this off.

Sarah stepped into the bedroom she seemed to share with her husband and tried to appear confident and sensual and alluring, rather than nervous, which was how she actually felt. Jareth lay sprawled across the massive bed, bare to the waist. He had been reading some official document of one kind or another, apparently awaiting her arrival, and when Sarah stepped into the bedroom, he glanced at her, back to his document – and quickly did a double take.

She felt no better when his lips parted in his classic, hungry grin. “ _Well_! Careful, Sarah. A husband may think his wife is trying to seduce him.”

Sarah tried hard to restrain her blush. Was she that obvious? “I just felt like dressing up a little.”

“Or dressing _down_ , rather?” He tossed the document carelessly onto a night table and pillowed his arms behind his head, grinning as he drank in her form. Sarah tried to bear up under this scrutiny, she tried to match him eye for smoldering eye, sashaying her hips in a manner that she thought must be sultry as she approached the bed; it was all very hard to do without breaking down into a self-conscious mess. Jareth's grin only widened. “I'm not complaining, love, believe you me. I would be happy to see you dress so every night. Or every day, even.”

She couldn't help it, her naturally sassy attitude came out. “Really? Every day? How about next week in front of the High Court.”

“ _Beautiful girl_ ,” he purred, extending a hand to help her onto the massive bed. She accepted and allowed herself to be hauled up in front of him, but Jareth didn't touch her otherwise – yet. “Don't ruin this _wonderful_ moment by speaking of such crass things...”

Sarah tried to smooth herself over, dipping her head slightly and fluttering her dark lashes. “I just wanted to please you, _Jareth_.” She let his name linger on her tongue, almost in a whisper, and nearly grinned to see his eyes half-close in the pleasure of it.

He was purring again, smoothing a hand down her silky hair. “Do go on...”

Very carefully, very slowly, Sarah lifted her knee and pulled herself onto her husband's lap, straddling his thighs and tracing her fingers up his chest to rest against his shoulders. “You told me...” she said in a half whisper, pressing her body close to his own so that he could feel the swell of her breasts through the bodice of the nightgown where they rested along his chest; she also felt the growl that radiated in him there, nearly gasped at the way she felt the peak of her nipples tighten in response. If she weren't so determined right now, she'd have been utterly _embarrassed_. “You told me that if I let you rule me, I could have anything I wanted...”

“And so you can, precious thing.” He could deny himself no longer, his hands snaked their way to the curve of her waist and he seized her tightly there, holding her against him as he rolled so that she fell beneath him. But Sarah didn't struggle, she let him have his way and continued to bat dark, green eyes at him. Jareth's hands squeezed her breasts, he growled his pleasure to hear her hiss beneath him at the sensation. His mouth worried a spot at the crook of her neck and shoulder, one of his favorites for little nibbles and leaving marks. She just encouraged him, running the tips of her fingers down his back and shoulders, and trying to make her own purring sounds herself. “Any time you want to let me rule you...”

Her fingers threaded through the silken fall of his hair, and she pulled back on his head ever so slightly. It was amazing to see how dark his eyes had become already, she had barely touched him and this was his response? She tried to discretely clear her throat and steel her courage. “Why not tonight?”

The moan that escaped her husband's lips nearly undid her. Before she could even take a steadying breath, Jareth had fixed his mouth on Sarah's, forced her tongue eagerly with his own, and nearly bruised her with the tightness of his grip at her waist and hips. It felt like he would crush her beneath him, but as soon as she gave a whimpered squeak of discomfort, he eased up. He was almost tortuously gentle, cupping the back of her head with one hand, tenderly swirling her tongue with his, murmuring sweet nothings and terms of endearment like he was the ultimate follower of Eros. Sarah felt breathless and dizzy when he at last allowed her a gulp of air – and that was only because he was slipping the straps of her neglige off her shoulders to bite and nibble the flesh there instead. “ _Sarah_ .” She could feel his arousal pressing against her already, it was unsteadying, to say the least. “My Sarah, _what do you want_?”

This was it, this is what she'd been gearing up for! “I want...” she whispered, running her teeth along the outline of his pointed ear so that he shuddered uncontrollably. God, this was almost too much, who knew being in control like this could be so heady? “I want...” Oh, she was going to tell him, she was going to be clever about it, too. She wasn't going to ask to go home again – no, too obvious. He'd see right through her ploy, pin her to the bed and ravage her to teach her a lesson for toying with him, that he _always_ had the upper hand. No, Sarah was smarter than that, she was going to ask for...

Sarah's green eyes shot open, she gasped and stared at the canopy above the bed, feeling dizzy again for entirely different reasons. She had _no idea_ what she wanted.

Apparently, this was one aspect of her plan she hadn't thought through.

Oh, she had vague, intangible notions, the kind common to the young: she wanted to go back home, obviously, and she wanted Jareth to not be so damn handsy. She wanted respect and was a little startled to think that maybe, in his own way, Jareth gave it to her; but beyond these things, things that required conversations she didn't know how to have and not simple wishes, she hadn't a clue. Sarah sat up, her husband's hands still resting at the curve of her waist, and he seemed a bit surprised to see her pull away. “I don't know what I want...” she whispered. It was such a terrible notion that it made her skin seem waxen in the low light of the bedroom. Desperate for some kind of guidance, she turned to the only one she knew who could give it to her. “What do you want, Jareth?”

His eyes flared in the darkness, and Sarah was startled – more so when his thin hands grabbed her shoulders and pinned her to the bed beneath him. “ _You_ , damn it,” he hissed, and Sarah wasn't sure if he was mad or not. If he was, why? What had she done? “I want you to look at me like I am the center of your universe; you to be willing and submissive beneath me, eager and passionate to serve my every desire; I want you to hang upon my every word like the most rapturous acolyte. I want you weak and _wild_ for me.” He growled very close to her face and Sarah bit back a squeak. “I want you to feel about me the way you make me feel for you.”

Sarah was shaking a little against his still tight grasp, but she was almost smiling. It seemed the Goblin King wanted intangible things as well, not objects, but vague emotions and senses of life. Not knowing what to say to this declaration, she instead said, “You're hurting my shoulders.”

Jareth stared at her a moment, huffed, and let her go. He flopped back against the pillows, grinding his jaw, and Sarah remained on her back a moment, still staring up at the ceiling. So...had she won this confrontation? Had she succeeded in seducing him? If so, what had she gained? If not, what now?

...If not, did she want to go through with it?

“Jareth,” she whispered into the dark, and he gave a grumpy noise to indicate he had heard her. “What you said in front of the High Court – you gave them their heir, didn't you?”

“Does it matter?”

Sarah turned on her side, soft, dark hair spilling over her shoulders. The Goblin King watched the fall of it and could not tear his gaze away. “I'm not trying to start a fight with you,” Sarah said, and amended, “this time. I'm just curious.”

Jareth thought about turning to face her, but decided against it. He wasn't in the mood for open honesty and intimacy, at least not in any way that wasn't physical. Physical was easy, he was good at it. _Talking_ and _confessions_ were painful and he did not enjoy them. “I gave them the child, yes. And before your next question, yes, he was once someone's mortal child. If you're going to rail against me, you might as well do it in a neglige.”

Sarah pursed her lips and wrinkled her nose at him. He had such a one-track mind. “But they love their child.”

“Of course they do. It is the only time the High King and Queen would ever bow before _me_.”

“And they treat him well?” Jareth did finally roll his eyes at her, an expression that read, “ _What do you think_?” Sarah blinked to steady herself. “...maybe it doesn't matter. Or maybe it does, but if it happened so long ago, I don't think me being mad at you will help.”

“ _Well_ .” The Goblin King did turn on his side at last, looking her up and down as she lay upon the bed. “That _is_ unexpected.”

“You don't have to be a jerk about it.”

“Do all these questions have a point, I wonder?”

Sarah took a steadying breath, and for some reason, put her hand on his arm. He seemed surprised, and she decided she did it to keep his attention focused and to strengthen her own resolve. “I want to go home – and I can't, so don't start getting mad at me for wanting it. But knowing that, I want to live my life as best as I can here. I don't want to be pushed around – not by you, but especially not by a bunch of faerie jerks who don't like me because I don't sparkle or whatever. I want to stay the Goblin Queen – and I want to be _respected_.”

There was a long moment, Jareth just staring at her, and Sarah wondered if she'd said the wrong thing. But suddenly, he shook her hand off, only so that he could wrap his arms around her and pull her close to the heat of his body. He was giving that lascivious grin again, and the girl gulped a little. “Precious thing...I promised I would give you whatever you wanted. I will see that whoever started this complaint in the High Court suffers for it.”

“That's not what I-”

“And...” he pressed a kiss to her lips gently, a preview of coming attractions. “We shall show the world what a Goblin Queen you are... _and that you are mine_.” If she wanted to protest this last part, she was stopped by him rolling on top of her and silencing her with an earth-shattering kiss, his slender hands roaming the curves of her body. He was going to claim her again tonight.

If Sarah were being honest as she kissed him back with everything she had – she didn't mind so much.

 

* * *

 

 

The second appearance before the High Court was less formal: no official trial in the Throne Room, though many of the same monarchs that were present then had come back or stayed to see what might happen to the would-be Goblin Queen. The presentation of the test was done in a formal study instead, both High King and Queen present; the latter actually seemed to smile at Sarah a little. “If she is the Labyrinth's Champion,” the High King intoned in his smooth, baritone voice, “then tapping its power ought to come naturally to her, and that would seem sufficient to prove she can learn to bear these responsibilities in the Underground. However,” and he held up his hand just in case Jareth meant to protest, though he was smart enough not to. “Being young and mortal and still unused to these things, we are willing to be generous. The child shall have three days – she must prove her magic once before the next day starts, every time. The rest of the time may be used to rest and gather her energy for her next attempt. When the three days are passed successfully, then nothing more shall be said by anyone, anywhere.”

“Sarah.” It was the Queen who spoke, and Sarah felt her mind throbbing again. Were these people angels or something? They were so bright and shiny and _intense_. “We have selected a room for your stay here, so you may not feel like a prisoner.”

Jareth had to gently prod her to respond, as her head felt as though it would split open in the presence of such intensely powerful beings. Sarah remembered to curtsy low. “I thank Your Majesties for your generosity.”

“Goblin King,” it was spoken King to King, and Sarah looked uneasily between them. “If we allow your presence near your bride, there may be talk that the contest was unfair. Therefore, you will stay in our presence.”

Jareth's face twitched, Sarah could see it, but he bowed all the same. “It will be my honor...”

“Let the trial begin, then. Come, girl.” Sarah was being led out of the study, and she gave her husband an uneasy look over her shoulder. Jareth just barely nodded to her, but she still somehow felt a tad better for it, like he was trusting her to be able to come through this.

Down a maze of twisting corridors, Sarah was taken to a small bedroom. It would not have been considered grand enough for most queens, but to her it was a relief, more like a very nice hotel room than some overdone royal apartments. The room was small, with just the necessary furnishings – a full bed, a vanity with a bench, a small table, and a few shelves. That was all. It was connected to a washroom, but that was also small, with a basin for regular use and a very small bathtub. Sarah almost sighed.

“Child.” The Queen was speaking to her, Sarah whirled around, having almost forgotten she was there. She regretted the sudden movement, as it put the woman full into focus and made her head pound again. “There are wards on this room to keep your husband away. Do you understand this?” Sarah nodded. “You will be quite alone – but food will be brought to you. Nothing will harm you during your stay here, that is the promise of host to guest.”

“I-I'm not worried,” Sarah replied, holding her chin up even though it felt like her skull might split open at any second.

The High Queen must have smiled at her a little, because the light grew even brighter, and then she disappeared. Sarah gave a great big sigh, like she'd been holding her breath, and watched as the bedroom door shut in front of her. No leaving now.

A display of her power, huh? That was all well and good, but nobody had told her what that meant! She had thought maybe she'd have to run the Labyrinth again and prove she really did it, or maybe the High Court would have a maze all its own to put her through. She was glad they didn't, but wondered if that meant the Labyrinth was _the_ Labyrinth – the only one of its kind in the Underground, and what that meant for the Goblin Kingdom and for her. She hadn't bothered asking for clarification of the requirements of this test, because she had read enough fairy tales to know no one was going to tell her that. A display before the next day began...did that mean it had to be done by midnight? Or before someone came to check on her?

Mostly she worried about how she'd pass all this time with no one to talk to and nothing to do. Sarah paced for a little while, thinking perhaps meditation on the subject of her power might help. She'd never really been the praying sort, but she tried that, praying awkwardly to whatever the Labyrinth manifested as. That felt weird; that place (that thing?) had given her so much trouble, it didn't seem right to ask it for anything now. And anyway, it didn't help. Maybe they wanted her to transform into an owl, like Jareth. Sarah thought about being a bird, she pictured herself as a bird, she remembered every pantomime exercise from every drama class she'd ever participated in – she flapped her arms and even tried “hooing” like an owl. But nothing happened. She opened her eyes and looked in the mirror, and she was still just Sarah. Maybe she hadn't believed in it strongly enough.

The morning became the afternoon in this way. She tried making wishes, which was something she had been careful to avoid in the last three years. It didn't work, but maybe because she wasn't wishing to the Goblin King. She didn't want to do that, lest it count as summoning and maybe that would mean she'd be breaking the rules? Sarah went back to pacing.

She had wondered about how the food might be delivered, but at the lunch hour, a silver platter with an etched silver cover appeared on her small table. She lifted the lid, but nothing was there. She tried one more time to see if maybe there was a bell or something she could ring, but on her second attempt, a lunch of soup and bread had appeared on the plate. Of course – magic. Dinner came a few hours later in much the same fashion; this time it was slices of roasted lamb with smoothly whipped potatoes and the most delicate green beans she had ever seen in her life, but Sarah had little stomach for it. The day was mostly over, and she still had been unable to figure out how to _display_ her magic. She'd wiggled her fingers, she'd twisted her wrists, she'd tried making up spells and even just, “open sesame,” to her door, but nothing had helped. She had been about to ready for bed in the hopes that maybe it was something that would happen while she slept, when a sudden cold overtook the room and she shivered uncontrollably.

There was some sort of...fog or mist or _cloud_ enveloping everything in the small suite, and yet Sarah was sure no windows were open – and it was the end of summer, there was no way it should be this cold, even if it were an early fall. Through the thick air, she could just make out a sense of a breeze as if...coming from underneath the bedroom door? And then, so quickly did it change that she didn't even have time to scream, the mists coalesced in front of her to form-

“Tothian?”

“My lady.” It was the Winter King before her, smiling over her hand and planting a gentle, cold kiss on the back of it. “How wonderful it is to see you.”

“But I thought...that is, they said I had to be alone for the trial.”

The strange man's smile widened, or sharpened, she wasn't really sure which. “The Court was worried about interference from your husband, it's true, but they did not anticipate anyone else might come to your assistance.”

“Assistance?” she parroted back. Tothian resisted the urge to roll his eyes. She was a little slow, wasn't she?

“You told me before you had no magic.”

Sarah nodded, at last pulling her hand from his, and noticing how cold her fingers were now. “I don't.”

“Then do you not wish my help?”

“I _do_ need help,” she agreed, rubbing her hands together in an effort to warm them. “It's just, um...I don't understand why you want to help me, I guess.”

Tothian smiled broadly at her, drawing up a seat. “Because I _like_ you, my lady.”

She blushed slightly. “Thanks...”

“You're a sweet young lady, being preyed upon by older, more aggressive members of the Court. It would be injustice to sit here and do nothing.”

“So...what did you have in mind? Magic tutoring?”

“A fine notion,” he replied, but his mouth was a thin line. “But I'm afraid we're under a bit of a time restriction. I was going to channel my magic through you; it should help awaken any power inside you, if it's dormant, and it will bear your signature, so the Court cannot object. Does this sound reasonable?”

Sarah felt very unsure about this. It seemed a little like cheating, but was it, really? The fey loved trickery, and as long as the result came from her, the rules of the trial would have been obeyed. Moreover, she was looking a gift horse in the mouth. And really...what choice did she have? Mutely, she nodded. Tothian clapped his hands and grinned at her. She thought he looked a little bit like Jareth with such a sharp smile, all pale hair and glittering eyes. But where Jareth's eyes were mismatched like the rest of his kingdom, Tothian's were an icy, arresting blue. He still gave off that dangerous aura all fey did, but...it didn't draw her in the way Jareth did, there was no pull between them. She wasn't sure why, but she felt somewhat relieved by this – she wasn't taken in by every pretty fey face that crossed her path. But that meant it was just Jareth who effected her in that way, and she wasn't sure that was much better.

“Excellent, my lady!” he was still smiling, laying his palms on the point of his knees. He was less bony than Jareth was, too, a little stockier and not all lithe limbs and sharp angles. Why was she thinking about Jareth so much, gawd! “Now, I do need you to understand, magic always requires an even exchange. It's never 'something for nothing.'”

Sarah scrunched up her eyebrows. “But I don't have-”

Tothian raised his hand and it silenced her. “Now, now, any little thing will do. Magic is satisfied with trifles. Now, how about...” He gave the impression of looking thoughtfully about the room and studying Sarah, and while it was not a lecherous look in any way, she still found herself suddenly uncomfortable. “Ah! How about your necklace?”

Unconsciously, Sarah's hands flew to her throat. She'd forgotten she was even wearing one. “This?” She fiddled with the clasp and it dropped easily into her palm; some collection of champagne diamonds roped in silver. She smiled freely and placed it in her ally's hand. “Sure.” She had so many jewels she couldn't even keep track of them. It was hardly an issue.

“I thank you, my lady, most generous of you.” He cupped the dripping finery in both hands and seemed to focus very intently for a moment. When his hands separated again, the item was gone, and Sarah would have asked him how he had done that – but Tothian had already stood up and crossed to where she sat on the low settee, coming around behind her. She almost jumped straight out of her skin when his lay his hands on her forearms from behind. “My apologies,” he murmured as she stiffened. “This may hurt somewhat.”

It felt like ice water had just sloshed through her veins – or even dry ice, the coldest thing she had every felt or imagined in her life. Sarah had to bite her tongue to keep from crying out, and even then her teeth chattered with the cold of it. The cold _was_ painful, but there was something else. It felt like a pull inside her mind, like something was being awoken and dragged out. Suddenly, the chill radiated in her hands, which Tothian brought together in front of her. She couldn't stand it much more, she was about to cry out-

There was a crystal there now. Or something like one. It was freezing cold to the touch, like a ball of ice, yet it seemed lighter than that. Sarah almost dropped it, but the Winter King helped her to steady her hands. “There...” he muttered in a smooth, low voice. “It was well done, my lady.”

Sarah could barely speak but for her shivering and the chattering of her teeth. “I-I-I-”

Tothian waved her off. “Do not worry about a thing. You will be tired, you must rest. The night has fallen.” He smiled at her. “All will be well, you _shall_ succeed this trial. This I promise you, Queen Sarah.” Before she could ask any more questions or thank him for his intervention or anything, he had become like a mist again and floated back through the bedroom door.

Sarah didn't bother changing for bed. She crawled straight under the covers, pulling herself into as tight a ball as possible to conserve any kind of warmth, and wrapped herself in the sheets like a cocoon, imagining sunny beaches and hot stews.

 

* * *

 

 

Sarah was able to avert her eyes on the basis of deference as the High Queen turned the strange ball over and over on her fingers. The King watched the whole time, and Sarah just held her breath. _They're going to be able to tell it wasn't just me, or it won't be good enough, or they'll lock me away forever, and for_ God's sake, _could they turn down the brightness a little!_

Yet for all the girl's misgivings, the High Queen turned curiously to her husband, head canted at an angle and said, “It is correct.”

The King nodded. “Two more days, child.” That was it. The door was shut again.

Sarah thought she'd feel relieved. She actually felt worse.

Still, she started the early afternoon hopeful. Tothian said he would awaken some of her power. She tried to remember the way the cold had felt coursing through her veins, tried to relive it in every detail. She willed, she focused, she tried _so hard_. There was nothing, not a spark, not a fizzle, not even a mote of dust was created by any power she had. What were all these people talking about, power over the Labyrinth! She'd lost all power! The power to choose, the power to live her life the way she wanted, right now she didn't even have the power to leave this room! Sarah grew desperate. She tried taking an ice cold bath to see if it would help bring the magic, but all it did was make her numb, and she was pretty sure she was coming down with a cold.

It was a long, long day.

Sarah had worked herself up into a perfect little frenzy by the time the thirteenth hour was struck on the clock. Thirteen perfect chimes, the girl became terrified she had failed – and then there was that mist again, growing a little faster this time. The Goblin Queen couldn't help herself, she cried out in relief when Tothian appeared. Perhaps it was unwise, but she grabbed his hands as soon as they appeared and squeezed desperately. “I was so worried!”

“Were you?” the Winter King asked, able to keep from yanking himself away from the grabby girl, but only just. “Why is that, dear girl?”

“I-I couldn't do it. I really tried, I swear I did, but-”

“Please.” Tothian raised a cold hand and noticed the wild look in her eyes, the dry rasp of her voice. Good. This was working. “It is alright now, child. I promised I would help you, did I not?” Sarah nodded vigorously. “Awakening dormant magic takes time. I am not surprised you could not do it on your own – yet. But we must make this quick, I will be noticed. Now, what do you have for me.”

“Have?” Damn, Sarah had forgotten that part. She looked wildly around the room. “U-um, maybe a handkerchief, or...”

“That.” Tothian was pointing at her hand. Her _left_ hand, the third finger thereof.

Sarah's fingers absentmindedly touched the gilded band. “My ring?” The Winter King nodded. Sarah bit her lower lip and looked at the diamond that glittered in its setting. “It's not that I mind giving it to you, but it's my wedding ring. If Jareth sees I've taken it off, he'd kill me.”

“Oh, come now. A man as infatuated as he is?” Why did this fail to comfort her? “I'm sure if you explain it was in order to save your throne, he would more than understand. There are plenty more rings in the Underground.” His hand was out to her, palm up. Sarah hesitated. “Come now.” With marked reluctance, Sarah slowly pulled the ring free from her finger. Her hand felt strangely bare now. It wasn't that she was particularly sentimental, but it _did_ seem wrong somehow. Even so, he had a point, and what choice was there? Sarah dropped it into his waiting palm. Almost instantly, Tothian's fingers closed around it. “Good. We must act quickly.” With almost bruising intensity, he seized her fingers, and Sarah could not repress her cry against the cold and the pain. There was that feeling again, that horrible numbing feeling, and the terrible, aching pull in her head grew worse now. It was making her nauseous, she was going to throw up right here on the Winter King's shoes if he didn't- “There. It is done.” Her head hurt so badly, Sarah could barely open her eyes. Still, she was able to peel one lid open just enough to see that, sure enough, a crystal was sitting in her hands now. She made a choked whimpering sound. “I must go now. Adieu, Goblin Queen.”

She wasn't sure when he left, or if he became that cloud again, or even when she went to bed. She only became aware of herself again when the blessedly warm light of the morning was falling onto her face. She'd slept in her clothes again, and she felt like her head was about to split open. Sarah had no appetite, and looked pale and drawn before the High King when he came to examine her handiwork that morning. The Queen even looked at her with concern, but Sarah couldn't see it. She had her fingers over her eyes to try to think of anything but the pain. Yet the High King smiled at her. “Just one more day, Goblin Queen.”

One more day. It might as well have been one more lifetime.

Sarah felt so drawn, so thin, she felt she might break apart at any moment. It was the first time in a long while she'd felt like crying, and she wasn't even entirely sure why. _I must be hormonal_ . But that didn't feel like the right answer at all. Something was inside her mind, whorling and twisting, and it only gave her a headache to try to create the crystal on her own. She could feel she was close this time, she swore sometimes she could see light between her fingertips – but every time something _almost_ happened, a flash of pain would cross her and she'd cry out, exhausted and frustrated and ready to throw something or pitch a fit or just lay down and never get up again.

She did not eat. She could not sleep. She was _so close_ , and the frustration of that fact was killing her.

What was worse, Tothian had not come. She had tried the whole afternoon, the whole evening. She didn't bother trying to go to bed this time, because surely by midnight he would arrive. When midnight came and went, she amended it to thirteen o'clock in the morning. The Winter King did not arrive. Oh God, what had happened? Was his meddling discovered, were members of the High Court on their way even now to drag her out and show how completely unsuitable to the throne she was? What would happen to the goblins, to the City, to _her_ if they did? Or worse, had Tothian abandoned her? To have come this far, to have spent these two miserable days in solitude, only to give up now – it was unthinkable. Sarah tried and tried and tried, bit her lips until they bruised as she concentrated. Nothing was happening.

And through her window, she could see the sun was coming up.

Her desperation became real and pronounced, she thought she was about to go out of her mind. This was it, she'd failed, Jareth would be _disgusted_ with her. Everything bad that had ever happened in her life, it was all a prelude to this moment: her mother had left the family because Sarah had not been good enough, her lack of magic proved it. She was kidnapped from her home because she wasn't strong enough to stop it, this exercise showed it. Anything she had worked or striven for was going to be ripped from her hands all over again, all because she couldn't make just one stupid-

She was so busy concentrating on her hands she didn't see Tothian appear in front of her, and she almost screamed. “They are coming.” He didn't look like she had ever seen him before: his eyes were wild, hard, _cold_. He looked like the embodiment of the most pitiless winter, and the temperature of the room had plummeted. “Quickly, there is one last thing you must give to me.”

Sarah was out of her head with the stress of it, she felt like a wild animal hunted to exhaustion and now cornered for the kill. “Yes, anything!” If he had asked her to strip now, she would have done it almost without hesitation, she was completely run out of time.

It was worse than that. Tothian's grin showed pointed teeth, and for a second, Sarah swore they were bloodied – but no, they were as white as ever, as white as he was, and his hand was out to her. “Offer to me the fruit of your womb, your firstborn child, and I will help you.”

She couldn't believe it. “ _What_!”

“There is no time! They are coming, can you not hear them?” Oh sweet God, he was right, she could hear the footsteps coming down the hall, to the door. “Time to decide, Goblin Queen – what is your position worth to you. _Give me your child_.”

“I don't even have any – this is _insane_!”

The cruelty in his countenance was absolutely unmatched. It was the greedy, heedless look of the most rank of living creatures. “Decide now or lose the chance forever,” he hissed, he would not allow her a moment's time to think this through.

They were drawing closer. _Shit_! “Fine!” She cried out, clasping her hand in his, and almost shrieked. It was white hot agony this time, like her brain was being shredded from the inside. She swore the cold was swirling all around them now; it was in her hair, it was freezing her eyelids together, it was penetrating her lungs until she could not breathe-

And all at once, something broke through the barrier of her mind: it felt like her eardrums were about to burst, and there were thousands upon thousands of little voices in her mind. Goblins chittering and complaining and gossiping about tomorrow's dinner; fieries howling like maniacs and throwing each other's heads around; Sarah could hear songs from sirens and even the plants of the Labyrinth seemed to speak in their own, voiceless way. Above all this, there was a dull hum, a bodiless consciousness that snaked tendrils around her head and heart and begged to pull her in closer. Lovely Sarah, strong Sarah, _powerful_ Sarah – prove your worth, rescue the child. We shall give you everything we are, for you are the conqueror. Our Champion, our everything, take us, take us. All of our power, bent to your will. Shake the heavens, color the earth, your merest whim is our wish and desire. Sarah, Sarah, Sarah-

“ _Ugh!_ ” The girl shrieked, grabbed a pillow and threw it across the room. “ _Fucking hell_ ! Am I a schizophrenic now, is that it? I can't _handle_ this!” The roaring noise inside her mind dulled dramatically – all but that hum, it hovered curiously on the edges of her mind, waiting for more orders or requests. But how did she know that's what it was doing? Sarah's green eyes shot open: she knew because it was hers – _the Labyrinth_ . She had power over the Labyrinth, she had _its power_ . Tothian's last push of his magic through her, it had broken the barrier, and while she had no idea if that had been his intention, she _really_ did not care at the moment. “I need a crystal!” she shouted at the empty air, though she had no idea when Tothian had left. It formed between her hands like a huge drop of molten gold, and the sensation almost hurt, but Sarah didn't care. So hasty was this power to bend to her will, the ball almost shot from her fingers. It didn't matter – it was there, it was _there_! It was hers-!

The door opened. It wasn't just the High King and Queen this time, but a few of their assistants – and Jareth, Jareth was waiting there with an anxiousness in his eyes only she could see. With a cry, she launched herself forward, hands out. The Goblin King caught her in his arms before she could stumble over her own tired feet. “I did it!” Sarah was near hysterical with her effort, her hands still forward, showing her husband, the courtiers, anyone who would pay attention. “Look, look! Magic! And it was _all me_!”

The King pulled the orb from her hands, the Queen was smiling broadly. And what was strange was that...they didn't look the same. That unearthly glow was almost entirely gone, Sarah could look at them without her head or eyes hurting. She could see the rich, golden brown cascade of hair the framed the Queen's face – beautiful. She could see the strong chin of the King, his own black hair that fell to his shoulders. Was this the magic, too? She didn't have time to care; Jareth was smoothing gloved hands over her hair, and it crackled with static. No, with magic, she realized, but it hurt either way, and so she yelped.

“Precious,” he was murmuring, holding her tightly against his chest. Sarah tucked her head under his chin, breathing heavy. She could feel the power inside of her responding, it was _giddy_ with this union of its chosen monarchs. She couldn't be sure if it was that which was prompting her feelings, or simply his absence, or if it was teenage hormones – but she had never wanted to fling their bodies onto a bed and be ravaged by him more in her _life_ . “Of course you did it,” he was still speaking softly, holding her face in his hands. He felt it too, she could see it in his eyes. He _craved_ her. Dear God, she was melting. They needed to get away _now_ -

The High Queen was still smiling, her head tilted in her amusement at the intensely private scene. “The trial is passed,” she said, and Sarah was amazed at how melodious her voice was. “You are free to go, with our blessings.”

Sarah didn't bother with groveling or thanks or haughty displays of, “Of course I passed, _duh_!” She just wrapped her arms tighter around Jareth's torso and closed her eyes as his magic wrapped around them both – so much calmer and cooler and stronger than hers, but she was going to get better – and carried them away together to the Goblin Kingdom.

 

* * *

 

 

“I know what we can do, to keep the High Court from meddling in my affairs again.”

“Jareth, I'm trying to wash my hair.”

“I'll run my fingers through it, precious thing, it will be perfectly clean.”

“Shampoo will do just _fine_ , thank you.”

“ _Sarah_...” It was almost a growl, that, “Don't defy me,” voice of his. Before she could so much as squeak in protest, the Goblin King had hold of her by the elbows and was dragging her closer to him in the bath. Sarah put her arms straight out to try to act as a block between them, but Jareth paid her little mind. If it was possible, he was even more clingy now than he had been before. When Sarah pointed out he was probably neglecting matters of State, Jareth simply dragged her with him to his study as he worked and set her on his lap. The girl would sit stock still for as long as possible, but even then she would prove too much a temptation for her husband, and he would almost unfailingly clear off the desk for a coital break. He was getting to be damn annoying, as his invasion of her bath was proving.

“I'm so sick of the High Court stuff. Let's talk about _anything_ else.”

“Why talk?” he purred, easily bending her arms so that she was pulled against him and he could fasten his mouth to the crook of her neck. Ah, there was that little whimpering sound he loved so much...His Sarah, and no one could ever come between them again. Especially... He broke away so that he could see how flushed she'd become, even more so than would have been expected from the heat of the water. “But if you insist, I don't mind sharing my plans with you – they involve as much action as they do discussion.”

“Majesty!” There was a frantic knocking at the bathroom door. Before he could be told to sod off, Boltsneeze was sticking his worried little head in. “Majesty, Majesty!”

Sarah almost screamed, and quickly glued herself to her husband's chest. “My, my...I don't mind the sudden affection, but now I can't reach your neck...”

“ _Boltsneeze, you know you're not supposed to come in when someone's in the bathroom_!”

“But...” he whimpered; besides, this was a new rule. The King didn't like goblins in his chambers, it was true, but he'd never had special rules about when he was wearing clothes or not, this one was all on the Queen. “But Beast of Bog has gone outside the wood again, is heading for trash heaps!”

Jareth sighed, dragging his fingers up and down the length of Sarah's spine while she blushed furiously. “The Goblin Guard can take care of it.”

“Beast slimed one, they scared.”

“Gods,” Jareth rolled his eyes. “Why do I keep a guard if they can do exactly _nothing_?” At Boltsneeze's pathetic, simpering whining, he snapped, “Shut up. I'll be there in ten minutes. Order the Guardsmen to rally and...tell them there will be free ale to those who prove their valor.”

Boltsneeze nodded his head enthusiastically – another _brilliant_ stroke of leadership by the King! And with that, he quickly tore off before the Goblin Queen could start yelling about him not coming in when she wasn't dressed. He _really_ was not fond of her when she did that, he did not see what everyone was so enamored with.

Jareth, meanwhile, slipped out of the bath, and Sarah relaxed considerably. She wasn't proud that she watched him as he moved and dried himself, but whatever – it could be her little secret, no one else had to know. “Will the Guard who got slimed be okay?”

“If the smell doesn't come off, he can just go live with the rest of the stinky little lepers in the Bog.”

Sarah's brow creased. “Jareth, that's horrible. You're a King, you're supposed to care about your subjects – like by finding a way to make it so someone doesn't stink forever?”

“Now, precious,” he cooed, gingerly drying his moppish hair. “How would I threaten the little cretins then? But you may found a scientific expedition, if you like – if you can find any of the little twerps with more brains than birds.”

“You're really mean.”

“Mean? I?” With a snap of his fingers, the King was dressed (Sarah wondered if she could do that now, too, but didn't trust herself to not accidentally strangle herself with a corset in the attempt), and he sat at the edge of the tub, gloved fingers tucked beneath her chin. “Now that is a title I simply cannot bear coming from one so lovely.”

“Ugh.” Sarah pulled her head away and dipped further into the water. “I want you to help the goblins because it's the _right thing to do_ , not to please me.”

“Oh well. I'm afraid we can't always get what we want.” He grabbed her by the arm and yanked her closer to him, so that she could see the light gleaming off his sharpened teeth as he raked his eyes over her wet form. “ _Can we_ ?” Sarah struggled a bit, Jareth let her go. “You're _still_ not curious about my plan for the High Court?”

“I'm not,” she grumbled, rubbing at the spot where he had grabbed her. “But you can tell me anyway if it will wipe that smug look off your face.”

“I'm afraid nothing can do that. But very well, if you insist.” He held up a towel for her, whether she was done washing or not, and Sarah knew enough to know it was better not to argue. He wanted her out, she'd get out. She stepped from the tub and he quickly wrapped the fluffy towel around her, dragging her against him and bending forward so that she pressed into the line of his body. “I was thinking...” He nibbled the edge of her ear, then a spot on her neck and her shoulder. “Why don't we go about getting you _pregnant_?” Sarah stiffened in his arms, but he would have expected her to do that. “When you're the mother of the heir to the throne, the High Court can try none of this nonsense ever again.”

“T-they wouldn't do that anyway, I won.”

“Oh, Sarah.” He chuckled. “You and your 'winning.' You 'won,' against me, did you not? These things don't _end_ just because of a few pretty words.”

Sarah struggled against him, a wild kind of look in her eyes. “S-stop it.”

“Stop what? It's not like we don't go through the motions of creation every night anyway...”

“ _Let me go_ , Jareth.”

“What prompts this sudden squeamishness, hm? You're not afraid, are you?”

Sarah was able to pull herself out of his arms, stumbling toward the waiting vanity, trying to control her trembling. “Jesus Christ, I'm _eighteen_!”

“What of it? A century ago among your people, you would have been a mother by now.” This was more than just her argumentative nature, the King's eyes narrowed. “What is it.”

“It's nothing! M-maybe I'm just not ready yet, you never _ask_ me anything!”

Jareth put a strong hand on her shoulder, tightly, and spun her around to face him. “Sarah,” he was growling, a cold steel in his eyes. “Are you telling me you would be an _unfit_ mother? Did you learn nothing in wishing your brother away? Would you _harm_ a child?”

Gods above, she actually looked like she was near tears. “Of _course_ not!” Somewhat startled, the Goblin King dropped his hand away from her shoulder. “I-I just...can you never just think about things from my perspective, about how maybe that would be really hard on me? Mentally, emotionally, whatever?”

“Tsk.” Jareth stood taller, straightening the cuffs around his wrists. “Nonsense, it's not like you'd be doing everything yourself. You're a Queen, Sarah, the majority of the labor would go to nurses.”

“That's _not_ the point, and I think that's _terrible_.”

“You are _impossible_ to please.”

“And you-!” The words wouldn't come, she stammered over her emotions. “ _You_ are going to be late to see the Goblin Guard, so just _go_ already.”

“ _Fine_ .” It was a hiss, he took her by the elbow again and dragged her against his body. “But this _discussion_ is not resolved. And it _will not_ be resolved until we are picking out colors for a bassinet. Am I clear?” She wouldn't meet his eyes; clear enough, then. He let her go and vanished from the bathing chamber. Sarah almost fell without his hand holding her up by the elbow.

“ _Offer to me the fruit of your womb, your firstborn child, and I shall help you_.”

...Well, she hadn't had any choice, had she? She somehow didn't think that reason would fly with Jareth. He had already questioned her on the wedding ring, she said she'd tried using it to focus her magic on and it had been damaged in the process. He accepted that willingly enough and gave her a new ring, one with an even larger diamond in the setting. But she just had the feeling that if she tried a, “Surprise, I'm actually sterile,” he'd never believe her. Moreover, he'd go about proving her wrong in short order.

Sarah sighed aloud, a wet lock of her hair moving slightly in the breeze she created. “Everything always happens at once.” Dressing quietly and quickly, she grabbed for the bell cord and gave it a strong pull. Boltsneeze appeared at the doorway of the bedroom a moment later, his nose wrinkled in his confusion, tiny wings flapping.

“Majesty?”

“I need you to arrange for me to go to the Winter Kingdom today – now don't argue with me, Boltsneeze.” Sarah crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes as the nosy goblin opened his mouth to protest. “I am _not_ in the mood after this morning, and I'm allowed to bog people, too. So can you _please_ just do this for me?” The majordomo sighed and nodded his wizened old head. Royals.

 

* * *

 

 

Sarah wore a dress mainly because she was given to understand she had to. It was what girls in the Underground wore, and it was what “befitted her station.” She was getting really tired of hearing that, with all the politicking she'd been subject to in the last several weeks. But even so, she didn't get herself all dolled up to travel to the Winter Kingdom. It was a very plain black dress, it covered all the essentials, it was not overly fancy and allowed her some freedom of movement. She was also wise enough to bring a great big coat along with her, remembering how just being near Tothian had chilled her before.

It had been a smart move. The Castle at the heart of the Winter Kingdom looked _amazing_ , like it had been formed out of crystal, glass and ice. Everything was beautifully crisp and chill, it dazzled the senses. It reminded Sarah of the way the sun glittered off the snow in a winter afternoon.

She would have continued her awestruck reverie had a voice not caught her attention. “Sarah?”

The girl quickly turned and her shoulders sank with relief. “Jadis!” The woman was carrying a steaming cup of something in her hands, her pale lips pursed in confusion at her surprise guest. “Am I ever glad to see you!”

“The feeling is quite mutual, I assure you,” she replied with tight, blinking eyes. “But I cannot imagine the reason for the visit.”

“Listen, I really hate to just drop in, but I have to see Tothian – your husband – the Winter King.”

The elegant woman seemed somewhat amused by this, her lips quirking up in a slight smile. “I am familiar with all three titles, yes. But why for would you need to see Tothian?”

“It's...complicated. I just told him he could have something that he really can't, and I need to try to make him understand that, so if there's _any_ way that I could just-”

“Queen Sarah.” She stiffened at her proper title, looking cautiously over her shoulder. There was the Winter King alright, a white wool cape dripping off his shoulders. “What an endlessly wonderful surprise.”

“Sarah came to see you, dearest,” Jadis told him, her fingers delicately touching the girl's arm. Jadis' hands weren't as cold as those of her husband, but Sarah still noticed gooseflesh when she pulled away.

“I cannot confess to any surprise to hear that. Well, my lady, how about my study? It should prove private enough. You will excuse us, Jadis....” The woman bowed and took her leave, and Sarah suddenly wished she had stayed. Tothian was offering her his arm, even though she _really_ didn't want to take it; hell, she barely let her husband do that routine, it felt icky to accept it from the Winter King. But not knowing what else to do, and not wanting to appear rude, Sarah accepted the gesture mutely. It wasn't a far walk to the study, and this room had a fire roaring merrily away in its grate – it didn't melt the walls, though, but then she figured the whole place was probably pretty magical. Tothian's office was strewn with finely woven carpets and was dominated by a mahogany desk. He took a seat behind this; Sarah remained standing. “Well, my lady? You wished to discuss something?”

“Yes. It's...about our bargain.”

“Ah.” The King's fingers steepled together, he rested his elbows on the desk. “I anticipated as much. Yes?”

“Look, I'm not trying to do take-backs or anything,” he gave her a look that showed he had no idea what she was talking about, “and it's not that I don't totally appreciate the help you gave me – I do. But you've got to understand that I can't give you my firstborn _child_ , even when I do get around to having one.”

“That was our deal.”

Sarah laughed awkwardly, thumbing her coat. This wasn't going quite like she had hoped... “Y-yeah, but it's crazy.”

“Is it?” Tothian stood from his position behind the desk and walked around it to Sarah. He was taller than she was, and she was pretty sure he was trying to intimidate her. It was working. “It's too bad, then, that you agreed to it. I have no intention of changing my mind.”

“T-Tothian,” Sarah stammered, knitting her hands together. “You said you liked me, right? You've got to understand how this is for me. You can't just ask a mother to give up her _child_. Think of how you'd feel if the positions were reversed.”

The Winter King ground his teeth together, his pale eyes were particularly cold. “I do not need to. Do you understand how _rare_ it is for a child to be wished away to the Underground? No one in your world believes anymore. It will be ages before another child is wished away, and even when one is, _your husband_ will not give it to Jadis and I! _He_ controls all the wished away children – and now he has a mortal wife? A girl who can easily and endlessly provide him with all the heirs he could ever desire?”

“Excuse me, I am _not_ some brood mare-”

“Where is the justice in that? In no way is it equitable that he has so much and we so little. You _both_ can spare one child. No, I will not change the bargain.” Without a glance, he stalked back behind his desk and reseated himself, almost as if he were dismissing Sarah.

The girl's jaw had dropped open. He really had no pity, then? Had he planned this from the start? “ _I'm_ not fey,” she growled at him, her hands on her hips, which all these faerie perverts were apparently sizing up for spitting out babies. “I'm not bound with words the way you guys are. And _I_ am changing the bargain. You can't have any kids of mine. Try and force me, and I'll tell Jareth about your little plot; he'd rip you limb from limb, and that's just for a starter.”

Tothian narrowed his eyes at her from across the desk. “You think I am afraid of your beau, do you?” Frankly, Sarah didn't think much of anything, other than that she hated having to invoke her husband to get anything done in this stupid world. “Tell him, and I shall make sure the High Court knows just _how_ it is you passed the trial.”

“It was _my_ magic, I would have gotten it eventually.”

The Winter King grinned a very cold grin, his teeth like icicles in his mouth. “I very much doubt that. But I'm happy to let the High Court decide, if that's what you want.”

“Here's what's going to happen.” Sarah's eyes had gotten hotter even as Tothian's grew colder. “And it's not a request: I didn't mean it. And when I wished away my brother – which I also didn't mean – I had the option to run the Labyrinth to get him back. I _demand_ the same thing here.”

The Winter King sighed, leaning back in his chair and looking smugly disappointed. “You're quite sure?” Something inside of Sarah twinged. He knew something. This was his game, he was making all the rules. But what could she do, go back and tell Jareth what she'd done to get this far? He'd kill her, and she'd nearly deserve it. Instead, she just nodded. “As my lady wishes.” He stood then, quickly, eyes intense and it startled Sarah somewhat. “Return tomorrow at ten in the morning, precisely. I shall give you a _labyrinth_ , dear child.”

 

* * *

 

 

As if he could scent the tension on her, Jareth did ask Sarah where it was she was in such a hurry to today. Her reply was that she was going to be spending the day with Jadis, which wasn't a _complete_ falsehood. Jadis would definitely be around, somewhere. Probably. Sarah didn't bother with any kind of skirt today, she dug into her massive closet and found the one pair of jeans and blouse Jareth had allowed her – and that was only because it was nearly the same outfit she'd worn when she'd run the Labyrinth, and for some crazy reason, he liked that.

Tothian stopped short when he saw her dressed like that, standing in the Castle foyer, gaze hard and waiting for her next trial. “Queen Sarah, you look...”

She cut him off with a slicing motion from her hand, not in the mood. “If I'm running a labyrinth, I dress for the occasion. So what is the contest, what are the rules, what's at stake.”

“ _Well_ .” He seemed just as glad to get to the point as she was, and he rubbed his hands together in eagerness. “As I'm sure you can surmise, winter gains its greatest strength here in my Kingdom. Its very power lies within the heart of my domain. Since you had three days to conjure your magic at the High Court, three days seems reasonable here. Now,” he held up his hand to stop her before she could interject. “I realize I cannot keep you here during the full three days. We're both taken, tongues would wag. However, thirteen hours of each day – ten in the morning to ten at night – seems both discrete and adequate. It's certainly more than your _dear_ husband afforded you, is it not?” Sarah just glared at him. “By your silence, I take it you agree.”

“So...what – I find the source of winter, you don't try to rob my cradle?”

Tothian's mouth twitched into a smirk. “Something like that.”

Sarah took a deep breath. Accepting anything from this man had brought her nothing but trouble. But then...what choice was there? She put out her hand. He took it. “Done.”

“Excellent. I suggest you get started, Goblin Queen.” He had disappeared in a cloudy mist again, she wished he wouldn't do that. It was very disorienting.

Sarah sighed, looking down at herself. It was deja vu all over again, only this time it was _cold_. She wrapped her arms around herself and nodded. “Well, come on feet.”

 

* * *

 

 

Hours she had torn through that Castle. Hours, ages! This place was worse than the bloody Labyrinth! Anything she touched, Sarah's fingers went numb and swollen. Her voice echoed an endless eternity down empty halls. Every turn seemed the exact same, an icy wall of blue, no landmarks, no flaws, _nothing_ . What was even worse, at least _the_ Labyrinth had been full of life; not always friendly life, but creatures to talk to, to rail against, even to plead with for help. In the Winter King's Castle there was _nothing_. It was a true, cold desert.

Even though everything felt slow and cold, the thirteen hours passed much faster than she ever could have imagined. Sarah was exhausted and dehydrated when a chuckling voice sounded in her ear, with no body heat behind it to indicate a physical form: “No progress today? Such a pity. Until tomorrow, Goblin Queen.” Before she could plead or beg or curse Tothian's treachery, she found herself standing in her very own Castle in her very own kingdom. And just as utterly alone.

“Oh _crap_ .” Sarah's hands began to shake. Where was she, where was she – the Throne Room, empty. Where was Jareth? It didn't matter. She needed to sit down before she fell over. “Oh crap, oh _shit_ .” This was way worse than she had thought it was going to be. Tothian wasn't kidding around. What the hell did this mean? She was going to get knocked up, spend nine months waiting and anticipating, being _terrified –_ and _he'd_ show up as soon as the cord was cut and take away everything? What kind of messed up world thought that was _okay_ ! Sarah was beginning to hyperventilate, what in the _hell_ was she going to do now? Two more days of this? She could have had two more years and not been able to find the stupid thing!

“Queen?” Wog's wrinkly little head was peeking into the Throne Room, treading along to his place in the sleeping pile of his brethren in the rumpus room. “You cold?” Sarah drew her knees up to her chest on the seat of her throne like a tiny child and shook all the harder. Wog could smell something was wrong with his mistress, he bounded across the stone floor and up onto the arm of her chair. “Queen? Queen? No cry, Queen, no cry! Wog fix! Wog make better!”

“It's not you, Wog.” Sarah's voice shook even as she stretched out a hand to pet the little creature. It crept onto her knee and peered at her with watery eyes. “It's me – I've _really_ screwed up.”

“No!” he insisted, rubbing his wrinkly head against her tear stained cheek. “You good Queen!”

“Not anymore...I'm not a good _anything_ after this.”

“Wog fix, Majesty! You tell Wog, he fix!”

“Wog...” Sarah couldn't fight back her tears, she held the tiny goblin to her chest and stifled her sniffling as best as she was able. “I-I...I did something stupid. I made a deal with the Winter King. I didn't know it would be this bad, but now he wants...” Sarah explained the whole thing to Wog. For his part, he was a very patient little goblin, listening to his monarch carefully, nodding when he understood, asking questions when he did not.

At the end of it, Wog's long ears were plastered back against his head. “ _Snow King_ try take baby?” Sarah nodded and wiped her nose on her sleeve like she was still a child. Would Wog be mad at her treachery, too? The little thing was starting to snarl. “Only goblin take baby...”

“That...wasn't quite the issue to me, but I can see why it would bother you.”

“And he _no take_ Baby Prince.” Wog hopped off her lap, his boar's tail whipping back and forth across the stone floor, his teeth gnashing in anger. “You go back tomorrow?” She nodded again. Wog bobbed his head in a return gesture. “We make Snow King sorry. You go bed, Queen. In morning, we fix. It good?”

“I'm not sure there's anything you can-”

“We _fix_.” Wog was very serious about this, but he rubbed his head against her knee in a comforting gesture anyway.

Sarah managed a weak smile. “Okay. It's good. I'll see you in the morning, Wog.” He did not wait for a dismissal, he'd hurried off into the dark of the Castle. Sarah sat on the throne a moment longer, just looking out at it. Baby Prince, huh? So sure she'd be popping out sons? Jareth would probably say the same thing. Why did immortal beings need heirs anyway? A Goblin Prince...this whole Castle, this whole kingdom, to her child. Was this what she'd have wanted to give a child of hers? Maybe not. But that didn't mean the child might not want it.

She _couldn't_ fail. She had to do this.

She didn't really notice her surroundings when she made her way quietly to the bedroom she shared with her husband. She just quietly undressed and slipped under the covers, a warm arm pressing around her. She stiffened for a moment - _he'll know, he'll know, he's going to_ hate _me –_ but relaxed at the dulcet sound of his voice. “You were out quite late...must have been gossiping.”

“You know me...” Sarah replied, noticing again how very dry her throat was.

“And how was the Winter Queen?”

“...cold.”

Her husband chuckled beside her, the vibrations in his chest making her eyes fall halfway closed. “Physically, emotionally? I'd believe either. Sexually?”

“Ew. I didn't ask or try to find out.”

“Good...” He pulled her closer and planted a warm, tired kiss against her temple. It seemed like the first time Sarah had felt warm all day – and it made her shiver. “I wouldn't share you even to see _that_ display.”

“Somehow, I'm just not comforted...”

“Do you require comfort, Sarah, love?”

Sarah's mouth opened before she bit down on her tongue; she'd almost said it, she'd almost said everything, almost spilled it all before him and consequences be damned. She shook her head, but whispered anyway, “Yes. Tonight, yes.”

He rolled gracefully on top of her, slender fingertips stroking from her eyes down to her jaw. Tonight, he would be gentle, she could tell. Oh God. He was a monster and he was going to make her fall in love with him, how had her life become _this_? “Then I shall give it to you.” His mouth was soft against hers. Around them, the candles guttered out, either by magic or an understanding that this was a private moment, not to be shared by even the touch of light.

 

* * *

 

 

Sarah was trying to be better prepared for her second day; a pack, a length of rope, an enchanted goblet to give her water. She thought about bread crumbs and lipstick and torches, but she knew better. Magic wouldn't take kindly to her trying to mark her trail, she had already learned that lesson. She wondered if she ought to pack small articles of clothing to keep Wog warm, when a knock came at her bedroom door. Bugwit, Nogtwit and Wog, all standing tall, all with flash and fire in their eyes – well, all with flash and fire in their eyes. Nogtwit did not stand tall because it was completely against his nature. He cowered between his companions, but seemed willing enough to go to save his future king.

“You guys,” Sarah began, surprised. “All three of you are willing to come?”

“All goblins willing,” Bugwit nodded. “But too many, Snow King notice. Just us three, we make him sorry.”

Sarah sighed, going on her knees before her brave little knights, touching each gently in turn. “I appreciate the valor, but...I-I'm really starting to not be sure. This isn't like before, when I didn't understand. I knew, and I made the bargain. This really is my fault, and if I fail...I'll have no one to blame but myself.”

“Well...” Nogtwit's puce eyes were wide as he leaned his head against the Queen's lap. “If anyone can rescue baby, it be you.”

The girl smiled a little, gently pushing her tiny friend off and making to stand. “If you guys think I can do it, then I know I can. Boltsneeze made me a portal in the kitchens. Go now, and I will be there in a minute, I just want to make sure there's nothing else I need to pack.”

The goblins obediently nodded, skittering off, while Sarah took another turn about the room. What would help her to find the source of winter...What did she even have? An ivory-handled comb, a silver hand mirror, a box of slightly melted chocolates...Or did this sort of thing require stuff in the abstract? A memory of Christmas that would help her understand winter's chill, or something like that? She had no clue, and she'd just shouldered her pack and turned to go – when she nearly collided with her husband in the doorway.

Sarah almost shouted in surprise, and Jareth's strange eyes were narrowed at her. “Another day out, my love?” he asked her in a low, mistrustful voice. Sarah gulped and nodded. “And you are _packing_ for it?”

“Th-this?” She looked at the bag, letting it fall down to her hand. “Just, um...a change of clothes and stuff I wanted to show Jadis.”

“You two seem to becoming fast friends.”

Sarah just gulped and nodded. “Mhm.”

The Goblin King turned carefully around her, examining her like she might be a vicious creature that bit. “You would not tell me a falsehood, would you, precious thing? Your own husband?”

“O-of course not.”

“No, of course not.” Jareth seized her around the waist and dragged her against him so that she hissed in surprise and a little terror. “Because if you did...well, heaven help you. Because I don't share my toys.”

Sarah snarled a little, pulling against his arms. “I'm _not_ a toy.”

He released her, and Sarah stumbled forward with the impediment removed. “Hm. Just see that you remember that.”

The girl opened her mouth to say something – that she'd done _all_ this bullshit to make _him_ happy, the great jackass – but just closed it again, green eyes glaring. What would be the point? He wouldn't understand. He'd just tell her it was merely his due, that she work and sacrifice to remain his Queen, when it was a role she'd never wanted in the first place. Sarah just grabbed her pack and rushed out the door. She had too much to do to waste time with him.

The Goblin King stood in his wife's quarters, and wondered if maybe he should have denied her this private space. Perhaps it would be better to keep her tethered closer, where he could keep his eyes upon her. He was debating the pros and cons of such an idea when he raised a gloved hand to run through his hair, and realized it was shaking.

 

* * *

 

 

A fork in the path. Sarah _hated_ these things, because her luck with them was pretty rotten. Whatever road she took, it always seemed the other way would have held the answers she was seeking: _never go that way,_ and, _one of them leads to the Castle at the end of the Labyrinth, and the other one leads to..._ and so on. The Goblin Queen had her hands on her hips, head canted to the right, a sigh dying on her mouth. Bugwit, Nogtwit and Wog leaned in imitation.

“...what we do?”

“Well...we'll cover more ground if we split up. So two of us will have to go alone, and one will have to go with m-”

“I go with Queen!”

“No, I go!”

“Me!”

“Me!”

“Guys!” Sarah raised her hands, palms out, to shush them – though she was a little flattered they were all so anxious to be her companions. “Hush. I don't know if Tothian's watching, so let's not be so loud.”

Wog put his long ears back against his head and snarled. “ _Snow King_...” His brethren followed suit.

Sarah smiled a little, in spite of herself, and sighed. “Okay, then I think...Nogtwit should come with me.”

Nogtwit's eyes lit up, his curly horns framing his overjoyed face. Wog and Bugwit started whining. “But _why_...”

“Because he's the most afraid to go by himself, and you two are the biggest and the bravest.”

“It true,” Nogtwit nodded, not in the least bit ashamed. “Nogtwit coward.”

Bugwit snorted his disapproval, but it was true that he was the largest of the three of them, and Wog the most clever. “We follow halls, find winter.”

“Right.” Sarah scooped Nogtwit into her arms, where he cooed with happiness; he was no bigger than Toby was when she'd left, and he was actually lighter, so it wasn't too much of a burden. “Be careful, alright? No one gets hurt.”

“No one gets hurt,” Wog muttered, sniffing down the path he selected. “We win, Queen, you no worry.”

With a nod of her head, Sarah started down the branching path on the far left, green eyes carefully scanning the icy walls. Nogtwit looked with similar wide-eyed wonder; to his mind, it was not nearly as nice as the Castle at the Goblin City. For one thing, not enough chickens. For another, far too cold. “What winter look like, Queen?” he asked her, an effort to pass the time, of which there was much. It had to have been hours of wandering by now.

“The manifestation of winter? I'm not sure...” she sighed, a lock of dark hair escaping the confines of her ponytail. “Or do you really mean the season? Isn't there winter in the Goblin Kingdom?”

“Yes,” Nogtwit nodded, happy to know the answer to something. “Much cold, white wet stuff! We make big fires, drink lots ale, sleep.”

“You do that anyway,” she muttered to him, stroking the tips of his curly ram's horns. Nogtwit's leg kicked in his pleasure. “What about holidays? Christmas?”

“Christmas?” He tilted his head.

“You know, Santa Claus, baby Jesus, holiday shopping, chestnuts roasting on an open Yule log...”

“Yule!” Nogtwit nodded enthusiastically. “We have Yule, yes! Drink ale-”

“Of course...”

“-eat Yule boar! Have big party!”

“Yule...boar?” Sarah's stomach turned a little at the thought.

“ _Boar_ ,” he said it more slowly, fuzzy eyebrows knit in consternation. She was a good Queen, but sometimes a little slow. “Smoke or cure, then bake or boil and _eat_.” He licked his chops.

Sarah straightened a little. “Oh, so it's not like...the head or anything? It's just a Christmas ham?”

“No.” Nogtwit shook his head. “Not ham, it boar.”

She laughed a little, scratching him behind his ears. “All related, Nogtwit, it's-” The girl stopped, and even Nogtwit had the wisdom to clap his tiny hands over his mouth. There was a voice around the corner, a familiar, lilting, female voice, and Sarah just dared take a peak.

“...said I wanted the trim done in silver fox fur!” It was Jadis; they'd been about to turn the corner into another anti-chamber, and the Winter Queen was taking off a long, flowing robe she'd been modeling. Apparently it had not been finished yet, for it was still held together with pins, and its trim was done in some kind of white mink. “It's wrong _again_ , you little idiots!”

“Majesty, Majesty!” Scraping before her on her knees was what Sarah assumed must be the Winter Kingdom version of her goblins. Speaking of Christmas, the nearest she could relate them to were little elves, like Santa's workshop helpers. They were about the same size as her goblins, but with much cuter faces. One had a long, white beard, another a youthful face full of mischief and sorrow. They both wore pointed hats of red or green, and shoes with curling toes and bells on the end. “We will fix it, dear Queen!”

“See that you do! _Ugh_ !” She gave an angry shriek and tossed the offending garment – a piece of beautiful workmanship so far as Sarah could tell – so that it landed on and completely covered one little elf. “Does anyone have to suffer such _useless_ servants as me!”

The covered elf pulled the cloak from off his face, spitting out pins. “A thousand apologies, Mistress!”

“I don't want your _apologies_ , you cretin. Do you know who I am, who my mother and father were? I deserve so much better than this!” One serving elf was trying to sneak away with the offending cloak, and Jadis turned and kicked it for good measure. “You useless little imps have no idea how lucky you are!”

Sarah clutched Nogtwit to her and took off in the opposite direction, shaking. She turned down several more halls and only stopped when her frantic running nearly made her drop her companion. “No more!” she whimpered, squeezing the little goblin against her chest. A dripping icicle caught the collar of her shirt as she made one slippery corner, and she stumbled down to her knees, her blouse tearing down to the collarbone in the process.

Nogtwit leaped from her arms to examine her knees, but the denim held up and she'd suffer no more than a few bruises and a ripped shirt. “Queen?” he whimpered, peering into her face and fussing over her. “It be alright, Snow Queen no hurt you.”

“Nogtwit.” Sarah's voice was shaking, and she held his little head in her hands. “Damn it, does _everyone_ in this place suck? I thought – I _thought_ ...” _I thought I wanted to be like_ that, _once..._

Nogtwit blinked his puce, goblin eyes, not quite understanding the cause of her upset. “Most people no like we small fey. It fine.”

“It's _not_ fine.” Sarah was gritting her teeth, refusing to cry through her anguish or her anger. “This place is awful and I don't want to be here anymore!”

“How excellent.” Sarah clapped her hands over her ears; Tothian's voice again, and though Nogtwit looked all around, he was nowhere to be seen. “For today's time is up. Until tomorrow, little Queen.”

 

* * *

 

 

Everything felt cold and stiff and numb. It was so bad, Sarah was having a hard time undoing the button on her jeans. She'd just managed to wiggle out of her pants and kick them off her ankles – when Jareth's hands came out of nowhere, grabbed her by the shoulders, and pinned her to the bed. Sarah shrieked in shock, trying to calm her racing heart as his cold eyes loomed above her.

“ _Bruised knees_ , Sarah?” the Goblin King was hissing, sharp teeth bared as he examined her critically. “Really? If I check your hands, will those be marked as well?”

“ _What_ ?” Sarah's breathing was heavy as she tried to keep pace with his _insane_ thought process. Bruised knees? From her falling? “So!”

She choked slightly as his fingers dug into the collar of her shirt and pulled it tight against her. Jareth lay his face close to the crook of her neck. “I don't smell him on you...but I see you were in such a haze of passion your _tore_ your clothes?”

“What in the _hell_ are you talking about, you owlish freak!” Sarah grunted, trying to get her arms between their chests to shove at him. “Get off me!”

“Do you think I am really that blind a fool, Sarah?”

“ _I don't know what you're talking about_!”

“Hurrying away to the Winter Kingdom twice – in two days? Jadis is _not_ that stimulating a conversationalist.” Sarah winced, and it was damning evidence in his eyes. “And you don't even _deny_ it?”

“Deny _what_ ?” Her voice was dry, almost begging. It was well he knew her proclivities for acting, for he might have otherwise believed the earnestness of her voice. “ _I don't understand_.”

“I'm sure you don't...” The Goblin King hooked his fingers beneath the buttons of her blouse and pulled, and the small stays popped, buttons flying across the room. Sarah squeaked as she was laid bare before him. Jareth's hands were _not_ gentle as he turned her this way and that, looking for the lightest fingerprint, the barest mark of teeth. “Cold hands and cool lips en-flame you so, my love?”

“Have you lost your mind!”

“I may – have you? Thinking I would stomach your infidelities with the _Winter King_ ?” She went stiff as a corpse beneath him, and he felt a pain within his chest. It was not supposed to be like this; the Labyrinth had chosen her as _his_ mate, so why must he suffer through this? “Oh Sarah, poor, foolish little girl.”

“It's _not_ like that.” She said it with an intensity of conviction, but she was shivering in fear beneath him. “I wouldn't, I _wouldn't_ ! I _hate_ him.”

“As you hate me?” Jareth leaned his face close to hers, watched her wince away. “Oh yes, I can see that you do...”

“ _Please_ ...” She _dared_ to use tears on him, her shaking hands coming up to grab the collar of his open shirt. “Please, don't do this, I _didn't_ -”

“ _Enough_.” Jareth pulled back, breaking her grip and eyes flashing. “Faithless woman. You disgust me.”

“ _Jareth_ !” Sarah sat up, but was a mess of sobbing tears. Her eyes red, her cheeks swollen, she looked a mess, and a part of him wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms and smooth back her crying. But he would not be that weak. “I _wouldn't_ lie about this!”

“Then _why_ do you go there?”

She hesitated, biting her lower lip – before shaking her head. “I-I can't tell you.” His eyes narrowed. “I _can't_! You wouldn't understand it if I did, it would only make everything worse!”

“Tch.” The Goblin King slid from off his bed, nearly as cold as Tothian might have appeared to her. “Of course I wouldn't....Leave, Sarah.”

“W-what?” She rubbed her torn cuffs against her eyes to dry her face, but her back still shook with her repressed sobs.

“I said _leave_.” He pointed to the door, and she just stared with jaw agape. “I will not have you in my bed, not now.”

There were so many times that would have given Sarah cause for joy in the three months she'd been captive in the Underground. Now, it tore her heart in two. Without another word, without a glance at her husband, she pulled on a robe and ran out of the room, across to her own quarters, slamming the door behind her in desperation.

 _What in the hell am I doing all this for_ ? Her hands were shaking as she pulled the scrunchie from her hair and threw it onto her vanity. _He doesn't deserve my children, that owl-faced, evil, uncaring, stupid- w-why am I crying?_

It felt as though her knees were about to give way beneath her, and so Sarah let herself sink onto her own, empty bed for the first time ever in a night in the Underground. What was the point of trying to do the right thing if _this_ was how she was treated? The Goblin Queen pulled her knees to her chest and tried to refuse to cry again, but that didn't seem to work. Where was a fairy godmother when a girl needed one, or just a friend?

Or a husband?

He was across the hall in his own chambers, pouring glasses of wine, throwing those into the fire, and cursing the day he listened to the wishes of a fifteen year old girl. And also he was wishing he could grant her older self anything she wanted, if only her wishes were for him.

 

* * *

 

 

One more day – one more chance to set things right. Sarah smoothed lip balm over her mouth, hoping to stop the cold from chapping her this time, and tied her hair back low against her neck. If she didn't win, she was going to find a way back to the Aboveground, because _fuck this place_. She'd had enough of wishes and fairy tales and dreams that didn't come true to last for the rest of her life. She'd told the boys to meet her down in the kitchens, and had been about to grab her bag-

But it was gone from its spot by her vanity. “What the...” Sarah was sure she'd put it right there, and turned to look for it – and saw him.

The strap of her knapsack was dangling from the tips of Jareth's lithe fingers. He was dressed in his Goblin Armor, a sure sign of his mood, but it did always make him look resplendent: all black, a dark cape, imposing, regal. Sarah blinked up at him. “Knowing your pig-headed nature, I assumed you would be shameless enough to return to the Winter Kingdom again today.”

Sarah blushed a little at the rebuke, but fisted her hands at her hips anyway. “Who's pig-headed?” Jareth just raised a swooping eyebrow at her. “...seriously, Jareth, you can't come.”

“Oh? And are you going to stop me, Sarah?”

“If I knew how, I would....if you're there, it could ruin everything.”

“That's rather the idea.”

“You don't understand how serious this is.”

“Yes,” he hissed, bending forward at the waist and staring at her. “I do.”

The Goblin Queen sat silently for a little while, swallowing hard before nodding. “Fine. I obviously can't stop you.”

“No, you cannot.” She was about to stand up, but Jareth suddenly offered her his black gloved hand. This time, Sarah took it. She needed some kind of physical touch to get her through this, even if it was from Jareth – and if she were being realistic, none of this would have happened if he hadn't abducted her in the first place. Maybe she was just exhausted from all that was happening, but she couldn't manage to be mad at him today. She began to move toward the door, but he held his grasp firm and did not move. “No sneaking through portals in the kitchen, my dear – oh yes, I knew.” Sarah gulped and looked down at the floor. “Don't let go of my hand. Close your eyes.” The girl obeyed, and her husband watched, drawing her in tenderly while she could not see. He held the back of her head with his free hand, his cheek resting at the crown of her head, and in the blinking of an eye, they were gone.

 

* * *

 

 

Jareth had brought them into the Throne Room, which made sense. Where else would he know to go? Sarah would believe he'd bring her to a bedroom in an attempt to shame her, but that joke was on him. Besides, he probably didn't know where one was. The Goblin King looked around the icy hall in a carefully studious gesture, the bearing of a man sizing up his opponent. Sarah kept her head low and watched him watching the world, trying to best work out where to begin her search again.

“Jareth?” Tothian had walked into his own Throne Room and seemed utterly surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“Tothian...” he purred in a cold, cruel voice, flicking his dark cape behind him. “I hope you have been well – it's not to last.”

The Winter King still looked baffled, before he noticed Sarah; his eyes narrowed. “Did you bring him? I'll call off the deal.”

Jareth looked equally perturbed. “Deal?”

“I _didn't_ bring him,” the little Goblin Queen shook her head. “No one is calling off any deals. I have thirteen hours, and I'll beat them out of you if I have to.”

Tothian snorted. “Such violence from one so small. How uncouth.”

“ _What deal_?” Jareth hissed, rubbing his gloved hands together and looking quite dangerous.

“Well,” Sarah began, sucking in a deep breath and carefully looking around. “ _Why don't you ask him, I have to go now, bye_ !” With that, she took off at a dead run to the Throne Room doors; she didn't have time to get in the middle of a fey pissing contest, she had thirteen hours to find winter and the clock was ticking _fast_.

“ _Sarah_!” She could hear him bark her name behind her, knew he could have easily caught her, but maybe Tothian had distracted him, because she somehow escaped through the doors and turned down the first hall she came to.

She hadn't run this hard since trying to beat a record in gym class, and before that, trying to find the first bend in the Labyrinth. Her breath came in shallow gasps and she could feel her pulse pounding in her neck, but still she didn't stop. Sarah tried every door, every corner, cursed and tried again. She had to find it, she just _had_ to-

She collided physically with Jadis, falling back and banging her elbows against the cold floor so that she could feel her arms going numb. The Winter Queen stood above her, a scowl marring her porcelain face before she helped the girl to her feet. “J-Jadis!” Sarah wasn't sure if she was stammering from the cold or from her shock.

“Sarah – where are you running to? Stay put, child.”

“N-no, I can't. Listen, listen to me, _please_. You have to help me – Tothian's taken something, I have to find winter to get it back, I have to, I-”

“Sarah.” Jadis smoothed her cold hand against the girl's cheek, and Sarah shivered harder. “I already know.”

The Goblin Queen's eyes tripled in size, and she backed away slowly until she met the unyielding surface of a crystal wall. “You what?”

“It was never a secret. You are young, I know this is upsetting to you now. But there is no reason to fret.”

“It's my _child_ , it would be a part of my _body_!”

“ _I know_ .” The Winter Queen drew ever closer, framing the girl's face in her cool hands. “I had a child once – a boy all my own, a son of my own flesh and blood. A beautiful child with hair like December and eyes like the sun in winter....and do you know what happened to him?” Sarah shook her head, totally mute. Jadis' colorless eyes went hard and ruthless, like the coldest winter in memory. “His _wet nurse_ , fool that she was, grew tired one night when he would not stop crying – and she wished him away to the goblins. And _your lordly husband_ took him. That.... _creature_ ,” she almost spit, drawing away and looking cold and terrible. “That _strumpet_ was too afraid to run the Labyrinth and retrieve _my boy_ – and now he is lost to me forever. Tell me, Sarah, _why_ ,” and she hissed, the stirrings of an icy breeze pulling at her pale hair, “ _why_ should I take pity on you? The Goblin King never took pity on me, nor on my child. I will have what's _mine_.”

“It's not yours!” Sarah was almost screaming, but Jadis still had her trapped against the wall.

The Winter Queen's frosted lip pulled up in a terrible, predatory smile. “No? It soon will be. You claim your mortality keeps your words from binding you, but chains will work just fine, I think. I am not afraid to hold you until the thirteen hours are up and we may claim what is ours.” Sarah thought the woman was lunging for her, raised her arms to shield herself and fight her off, but suddenly Jadis screamed in pain and stumbled backwards.

Sarah looked down, blood was pooling on the icy surface of the Castle floor – and that was not all. “ _Bugwit_!” The goblin had sunk his little teeth into the woman's ankle and was shaking the way a dog might shake a bone, a deep growl in his throat. Wog and Nogtwit came bounding around a corner as Jadis magicked herself away as quickly as possible, and Bugwit was licking his blood-stained lips in terrible satisfaction. “You guys! How did you-”

“Boltsneeze run dumb mouth,” Wog was growling while Nogtwit sniffed at the pool of blood and turned his nose up at it. “Tell King about portal – so we use before it close!”

“He only told so he no get bogged...” Nogtwit weakly defended.

“You brave little creeps, you!” Sarah went down on one knee and pulled them all into her arms, not caring that Bugwit was staining her blouse. “I don't know where Jareth is, last I saw him was with the Winter King. We don't have much time: I don't know if he'd try to stop us, but Jareth's definitely not happy right now.”

“We _find_ winter, Queen,” Wog was nodding, wrinkly face set.

“Then...we bite Snow King, too,” Bugwit grinned through crimson teeth. Wog licked a fleck of blood off his chin and nodded his approval. Sarah closed her eyes and tried to ignore her sense of nausea. She needed allies right now, this was no occasion to be picky.

“Do more than bite.” Goblin grins were lighting up all around her, and Sarah shook her head.

“We'll worry about that later. Come on, we need to hurry.”

 

* * *

 

 

So, the girl thought to distract him by dragging her husband into it, did she? Tothian was not to be put off, and he was not about to allow Jareth to help her. He had been clear on this from the start, and really, more than fair. His Castle bent to his whims, he could watch each desperate move she made, and watched the time drift away, like sands dripping through an hourglass. No, he grinned to himself. No, she'd never make it in time.

But the Winter King had not counted on the sheer power of her _will_ ; the power that had allowed her to make friends of enemies in the Labyrinth, the power of her spirit that bent ancient magic to her now. He watched in horror as she actually...truly...crept ever closer to his inner sanctum, to the heart and to the prize! This could _not_ be allowed. Jadis had failed in waylaying her. He would do it himself.

The Goblin King he left waiting in his study. Oh, Jareth had had plenty of questions, but no power to force the answers: they were in the Winter Kingdom now. Should he be foolish enough to lay hands on its King, the High Court would see it as a completely unprovoked attack, and punish swiftly and without mercy. Jareth knew this. It was why he ground his teeth and waited, dying to find his little girl bride and discover the source of all this trickery. Little did Tothian know, however, that his constant presence by his “guest's,” side was comforting in one way – he could not be conducting an affair with the Goblin Queen if she was on the other side of the Castle.

But Jareth would have to entertain himself for a little while, as the minutes of the last hour drew ever closer to an end. The girl was just a little _too close_. That could not be allowed. Tothian reveled in the tiny cry that burst from the Goblin Queen's red lips when he appeared before her, hand resting comfortably on one of his walls. “It was a grand game, Sarah, even you must admit that. Give up now, and I will be merciful.”

Her little horde of _disgusting_ goblins snarled at him, and the girl picked up her head with defiance. “ _Screw_ your mercy, what in the hell does that even mean, coming from you?”

“Shall I tell you?” He grinned quietly to himself and pushed off the wall, steps echoing down the icy hallway. “Give up now, and nothing more needs be said by anyone ever. You will give me your firstborn child and we will move on as amiable enemies. Continue in your stubborn vanity, and that will _not_ be the case. For a start, I shall let the High Court know of how it was you passed the trial.”

“I'll tell them of what you held over my head to make it happen!”

Tothian just shrugged. “What's said is said. You agreed to the terms. There will be a punishment – they may even dethrone you.” His grin was truly horrible now, as terrible as the icy winter. “Crownless queens don't go far in the Underground, my dear. Besides, I think it's fitting that the Child Stealer will have his child stolen, don't you? Would you really rather I shame you in front of the entire Underground? Rather be tossed out as nothing into the world?” To her foolish credit, the Sarah creature stood taller and met his cold stare, a fire in her green eyes. “What might one do, after all, with Jareth's slut-”

No sooner had the word left his lips than Sarah heard a horrible screeching noise behind her; an owl, its talons drawn, was lunging claw first right for the Winter King's eyes. She barely blinked, and Tothian wasn't there at all, but a stately white wolf, its ears pulled back against its head as the barn owl's talons dug into its fur and flesh. There was a snapping of jaws, a gnashing of teeth – horrible, screaming sounds, and blood splattering the floor and walls. Sarah did not have time to stare, she leaped into action. “Bugwit, Wog! Go help!” She almost threw the little goblins into the fray, but they were enthusiastic for a chance of well-earned violence, and she could hear their own powerful jaws beginning to snap in enthusiastic defense of their King. Sarah grabbed Nogtwit and took off, skirting past the fighting creatures before her.

“Look,” she hissed, a little breathless. “If he was trying to stop us, we have to be close! _Think_ , Nogtwit,” she begged as she rounded another corner and skidded to a halt before three more doors. “If you were hiding an entire season, where would you put it!”

“Eh...” Nogtwit was wracking his tiny brain as best he could, but he was not one of the smart goblins, he did not even have Wog's innate scheming sensibilities. His eyes then lit upon the inconspicuous, wooden door just behind them. “There!” he cried, leaping out of his Queen's arms and bouncing before the door.

“Nogtwit, that's a _closet_!” Sarah cried, chasing after him. “We don't have time for this!”

“Thing not always what it seem!” he cried, still bouncing and clawing for the crystal handle. Frustrated, Sarah grabbed the knob and turned it, opening the door on-

“Holy macaroni...” It was _not_ a closet. Why hadn't she believed him? It was the perfect way to disguise a door one didn't want seen. Behind the rough hewn wood not fit for storing mops lay a dome of perfect crystal, light filtering down and making everything _glitter_ with icy beauty. Somehow – magically, she supposed – it was snowing inside, perfect flakes of softness, white and gentle. Not cruel, not horrible like Tothian and his cold magics. It was like being inside a snow globe, Sarah realized, and sitting on a pedestal at the center... “ _Wow_ ...” It was perfect. Bigger than one of Jareth's crystals, it was blue and white and _gorgeous_. Sarah approached it carefully, the snow crunching beneath her tennis shoes, her hands outstretched for it. The winter globe was cool to the touch, but not painful. A chance for pure, new beginnings, not cold, dark endings. “It's...magical, it's...”

“ _That is mine_!” Sarah whirled on her feet, clutching the ball close to her. Tothian had his hands locked behind his back, pinned by one hand of the Goblin King. Blood dripped down the Winter King's nose, and a bruise spreading under his eye was a good clue he'd broken his cheek bone. “You impudent little hussy, you cheating wh-”

Jareth tossed the man hard to the ground before him, watching as the snow fluttered away at the rush of air. Bugwit and Wog seemed to have come out unscathed, and they quickly tackled the prisoner to the ground, one biting at his ear, the other at the crown of his head. Jareth just pinned his quarry with one boot on his spine. “Quit while you're ahead, dear Tothian. Your game is at an end.”

Sarah's hands clenched around the crystal, her heart pounding in her chest – why would it do that? She was just glad he wasn't hurt. Oh, Jareth had a split lip, and it looked like his arm had been badly knocked when in the shape of a delicate wing, but he seemed to be in better shape than his opponent. “Jareth-!”

“The Goblins will take you back now, Sarah.” He spared her barely a glance, and she shrunk away a bit. To have come so far...could he really be mad at her? His tone softened a little. “What I am about to do is not for such lovely eyes as yours, precious thing.” Mute, Sarah nodded, letting the ball rest at the crook of her elbow while Nogtwit sat upon her shoe, the other two quickly loping over. In the twinkling of a moment, she was gone, and the Goblin King allowed himself one sigh of relief – and then one nasty, satisfied grin as he knelt down before his prey in the snow. “A bad miscalculation on your part, I'm afraid, Tothian – my fine, fluffy friend. Not that you were to know, entirely. Sarah did very well this time, look – ten whole minutes left to spare. You must be _quite_ ashamed.” He grinned in amusement as Tothian snarled into the cold of the snow. “Unfortunately for you, I made a promise to my wife. Should anyone ever dishonor her with _that word_ ,” and he spit, grabbing his victim by the hair and yanking his head from the snow bank, “I promised to kill him.”

Tothian sneered his defiance, determined to be a king to the end. “You do not scare me, Goblin King...”

“Oh, but I should.” Jareth tilted his head and his owl's eyes glittered. “For you see, I also promised to tear off his limbs and feed him his intestines.” He grinned to watch the man blanch the color of the snow around him. “Where shall we begin?”

 

* * *

 

 

“So, the Winter King gets to be a wolf, you get to be a barn owl...when do I get my bad ass animal transformation?”

“Why don't we work on getting you to conjure things without setting the drapes on fire first?” Sarah tried to elbow him in the ribs, missed, and hit his arm. Jareth hissed. “That still _hurts_ , you know.”

It was worth it to see the sudden guilt in her eyes, smoothed over with a playful flare as she gently picked up his arm by the elbow. “You owls and your hollow bones...” The Goblin Queen kissed her husband where his arm was bandaged, gently and sweetly, and her eyelashes fluttered as she looked up at him. “All better?”

Jareth smirked a little and brushed a lock of dark hair behind her ear. “It's a start.”

The royal couple were tucked into _their_ quarters – the shared room of the King and Queen, the husband and wife. The King lay sprawled along a velvet, burgundy chaise, his lithe legs crossed at the ankle; his wriggling bride would lay atop him in front of the roaring fire, complain she was too hot and roll so that she was at his side, then mutter something about the cold and roll back on top again. It was irritating, but also endlessly amusing. Jareth had ordered mulled wine and locked the doors magically and physically. It was always cute when Sarah talked about being under age when it came to alcohol, but somehow it was never hard to get her to indulge.

“I feel like I'll never be warm again...” she shivered, tucking her chin along his chest and staring deeply into the flickering fire.

Jareth draped his arm around her back and let his fingers gently stroke her. How long he had craved such a moment, beautiful Sarah like his pet – no, like his Queen. And she _really_ was, a passionate, hard-working, _stunning_ Queen. “I can fix that...”

She ignored his innuendos and wandering hands, focused on the matter that occupied her mind. “Is it safe to keep the winter here? Should it go back home?”

“I consider this a spoil of war. The seasons will still change, if that's what concerns you. The Winter Kingdom will just have considerably less magic flowing through it than it used to.”

“But the people there will suffer.”

“That is the price they pay for their leaders' treachery.”

“Jareth, that's not right!” He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. Gods, did she always have to fight him on these things? Sarah must have noticed his temper flare, for she ducked her head a little and lowered her eyes. “You know...how about we discuss this later...”

“An _excellent_ idea on your part, precious thing...” The King ran his thumb across her soft, red lips, letting his gaze linger on the beautiful curves of her face. “Besides, I thought we might use its power to supplement your own while you are in study.”

Sarah perked up a little, clearly interested. “Could we do that? Would that be allowed?”

“I see no reason why not. You found it, after all.”

Sarah sighed and rolled so that she was more or less on her back, her husband's arm pillowed beneath her. “I just can't imagine the High Court is going to be happy about this. I mean, you killed the Winter King – don't tell me you didn't, I'm not an idiot – and exiled his Queen. It doesn't seem the kind of thing they look too fondly on.”

“You worry too much, love,” he replied, adjusting his arm to keep her from settling along the sore spot. “The High Court expects a certain amount of intrigue. It is a part of our fey nature. I was provoked, I had to act.”

“You attacked him in his own house.”

“Ah,” he corrected, tapping her on her nose so that she wrinkled it charmingly. “In my owl form. They tend to be more lenient with these things – animal instincts, and all.”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “And you just happened to be flapping around the castle as a bird?”

Jareth grinned at her. “Just so.”

Sarah's mind had moved on to other matters, she was biting her lower lip in the way her husband found particularly charming. “Jareth...” she asked, voice low, eyes still focused on the fire. “Did you really take Jadis and Tothian's child?”

There was no shame in this. It was his ancient duty, as well as his right. “I did.”

Sarah's eyes left the fire, she looked down in deep thought. “What happened to him?”

Jareth sighed, his fingers stroking the soft ends of her hair. “In your little story, you believed I would turn your brother into a goblin.”

“Yeah, but you said human children are adopted.”

“And so they are. But you were not far from the mark: children among the fey are such a rarity, they are to be treasured. And if one does not know better, they are to be fully impressed with the consequences of their actions. These are the babes I turn into goblins.” Sarah said nothing, briefly debating asking which of the goblins the Winter Prince could be now. One she knew, one she treasured? But curiosity had done too much to hurt this cat already: it was better not to know, she decided. It was Sarah's turn to shift, and she looked distinctly uncomfortable. The grin fled from the King's face, disappearing into a frown. “What is it, Sarah.” She mumbled something and he tilted her face toward him, gaze intense. “What _is_ it.”

Sarah sighed, tried to look anywhere but his eyes, but ultimately failed. “You're not...mad at me?”

The Goblin King blinked several times. “...you expect me to be?”

“I bargained with the life of our future _child_ – yours and mine, presumably. I'd have been pissed, if the positions were reversed.”

“I am more put out that you would not tell me.”

“I _couldn't_.”

“You could. I would have helped you.”

“He would have forced my hand!”

“Sarah.” Jareth had hold of her by the chin, so that she could not turn away from him, and her gaze was wide and open and _beautiful_ in its vulnerability. “You are my Queen. I can allow no harm to befall you. My fealty to you forever, don't you remember?”

Rather than melt into his looks, Sarah's mouth quirked in the barest of smiles, and she shifted against his hand a little. “Right, well...next time a fey psycho tries to force me to give up my unborn children, I'll be sure to clue you in.”

Jareth, however, was not laughing, and he did not release his hold on her. “I am going to ask you something. Realize it is very difficult for me, and I will not ever ask it again.”

Sarah blinked in shock. “O-okay...?”

The Goblin King took a deep breath through the nose, never breaking eye contact with his bride, and at last asked, “...are you mad at me?”

 _That_ was not what she was expecting. “W-what?”

“Are you upset with me. You had misgivings about the...physical nature of our relationship, and I...” He coughed slightly, and it was his turn to try looking away. Sarah was fascinated. “Seemed to imply the other night that you were, in some way, of lesser virtue, when you had not committed any true wrongs...Does this _bother_ you?”

Sarah's lips had pulled into a soft, sweet smile, her teeth white in the light of the fire. Jareth had no idea what she had to be smiling like that about, and it unnerved him somewhat. “You know what?” she shook her head. “Like I said, we're stuck with each other forever. If we hold on to every little issue, we won't need to worry about forever, because we'll kill each other first.”

“It's less romantic when you say it like that.”

“You're not off the hook for everything you've ever done to me – but that one's forgiven, free of charge. Just...don't do it again.”

Slowly, the King's mouth pulled into his more characteristic, smug smirk, and he rolled the girl so that she landed on his chest again, the better for his hands to grab at that lovely waist of hers. “Don't give me cause for jealousy.”

“Don't jump to so many conclusions!”

“Don't keep secrets.”

“D-don't...don't...don't say any other remarks about me being 'delicious,' in front of company! Ever!”

“Sarah.”

“What!”

“Don't keep talking.” Jareth's mouth found hers, and she really couldn't keep talking. She hated him, she hated him, she hoped he kept kissing her like that, because it got her blood pumping in the most wonderful ways. Sarah had had a long week; she was willing to enjoy the _hell_ out of her conjugal rights, and whimpered against his mouth in the ways she knew made him start throbbing. They were breathless when their lips disentangled, eyes dark, hands searching for the most sensitive places to touch. “Now...” Jareth's tongue slid over her lips one more time and Sarah moaned, eyes closing. “Approaching the subject of heirs again...”

The girl opened one green eye, fixing her husband with a hard look. “That is _never_ happening.” A pause. “Right away.”

“In the near future?”

“Can I _please_ just be older than eighteen before we start talking the babies? Please?”

“Well...” Jareth rolled his bride beneath him, reveling in the perfect fit of her body below his. His mouth pressed against hers, and the rest of the world did not matter. “I think we can negotiate that, yes.”

 


	3. Shake, Rattle and Roll

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate this title, but Mztlynne thinks it's adorable. Leave your opinion in the reviews!  
> Also, two chapters in a row where it starts with His Nibs getting some! He does this on purpose, you know. I was just packing boxes in the shipping room at work, and he's all, “Hey, you know what I'd like to do with Sarah now?”  
> “Jesus Christ, dude, I'm at work!”  
> The Goblin King has no sense of propriety.  
> 100% Fey B.S. Free!  
> Sarah's cravings are a nod to my own poor mother, who could not live through her pregnancy with me without Hershey's with almonds. Here's to you, Mom and Milton Hershey.  
> While I am quite pleased with my version of the nursery, if you want to have your heart strings really pulled, go read “Goblin Market” by Viciouslywitty, if you haven't already. Damn is it imaginative with its toys.

* * *

 

“Hands up, Sarah. I want to have full access to you.”

“I-I can't.”

It was apparent to Sarah that fall suited the Goblin King's temperament. His already elaborate wardrobe was given the addition of fabulous colors, golds and scarlets and even a dash of purple to match with the start of fall in the Underground. Summer had been too hot for much leather, it would have stuck to the skin, but now it smoothed over his hands or popped along his collar again, and he looked very sensual and cozy in his leather jackets, his wife would have had to admit, were she pressed on the issue. It was also time again to light great, roaring fires in the disused hearths, and Jareth made every opportunity to drag his bride before one in the evenings, mugs of cider or snifters of brandy nearby while he made liberal use of his body to keep her warm.

Even now, Sarah could see the dying light of the fire reflecting in his hair, turning his pale locks into a beautiful ruddy gold. His skin was always so white, yet somehow so warm, and in the firelight it gained a gilded, gorgeous glow.

“Can't?” His mouth had claimed the peak of her breast again, and the poor girl whimpered, her hands dropping to grip his silky hair of their own accord. “Or won't?”

“Please...” She hated how husky he could make her voice become. The wretched devil had turned an innocent girl into a wanton, and he repeated the process over and over again every night. Just the weight of his body atop hers was enough now to start a Pavlovian response within her, and she soon found herself aroused and mewling beneath him, however much she did not want to. It was no easier tonight, the way he was tasting and teasing her bosom, his teeth grazing very carefully over the sensitive point of her nipple.

“No mercy, Sarah,” he scolded, his fingers digging into the bones of her hip. “I don't want you shifting while I work. Either keep your hands up or I will tie them.”

Sarah _tried_ to raise her arms – she didn't like admitting she enjoyed what he did anymore than she supposedly liked receiving it – but she had such little control over her actions when he did these things. In the bed, he had complete power over her and it was _terrible_. He was gently moving her hips against the hard planes of his body, just letting her feel how aroused he was becoming as he worked over her when her pale fingers dropped down again and knotted in his hair, whimpering all the while.

“Tsk.” Jareth picked his head up with his lips pursed, scolding his bride. “Naughty Sarah...”

“Please, Jareth, I-”

“Shhh...” His hand was groping blindly in the drawer of a nightstand, his eyes never leaving her lust-clouded ones. “I won't make the knot too tight, precious, I assure you.”

“ _No_ !” Too late. He licked and nibbled at her wrists a moment, enjoying the heat from the point of her pulse, before carefully tying her hands together with a red, silk tie and looping this to the head of the bed. Without another word, Jareth began his tortuous and tender ministrations again, and poor Sarah _writhed_.

She wouldn't have been surprised if he had stopped time again, for it felt like _hours_ of intensity she simply could not handle. It was downright painful, but so thoroughly pleasurable, all at the same time. It was not infrequently that her husband decided he did not want to chance any interruptions and stopped the flow of time around their bedroom, so he might indulge as long and well as he liked in her body. The girl was a mess of begging and pleading now, and the King grinned against the sweat-beaded skin of her stomach. “You have no idea how beautiful you are like this...” He kissed the swell of her stomach and looked up at the girl, seeing how flushed her face was, how her mouth hung open with the effort of her breathing. “My little Champion conquers me...but it seems you're ready for me now, love.” Sarah closed her hot green eyes and mutely nodded. “Now, you _know_ how I like to hear you say it...but I'll be generous,” she stiffened beneath him and he grinned further, “just this once.”

Sarah's gasps were choked as he pressed himself inside of her, and she bit her lip so hard she would have believed it was bleeding. Jareth separated her teeth from her lip with his tongue, however, and all of the moans of pleasure she had tired to repress spilled effortlessly into his mouth. Such a hard, ruthless man, yet his tongue was _so soft_ , like velvet. She closed her eyes and whimpered as he sucked gently at her lips, his initial rhythm slow and steady, but building ever harder, ever faster. The Goblin Queen's breathing grew heavy and her dulled eyes peeled open; she needed to see how he looked when he did this, it was always hypnotizing. No one had more intensity of emotion than he did. Jareth's eyes fairly blazed when he moved within her, the way he kissed her flushed skin was like being worshiped. It was just too much, and Sarah's hands began to writhe against the restraints.

Her husband's head snapped up at the movement, not breaking pace for a moment. “None of that, love, I told you.”

“I-It hurts,” she pleaded in a pathetic whimper, her hips involuntarily moving to keep time with his thrusts.

His tongue in her mouth was aggressive, it made her moan into him all over again with desperation. “I wouldn't hurt you for the world.” His breath was ragged, he nipped at the lobe of her ear a moment before returning his fiery gaze back to her. Sarah felt herself puddling beneath him on the bed. “But you are just so _willful_ , my precious thing. How else am I to teach you what I like?”

“ _Please_ , Jareth-”

“Oh, beloved...” His teeth sank into the curve of her throat and Sarah cried out, hoarse, not caring that she would be heard beyond the bedroom – at least, not caring at the _moment_ . “How can I be strict with you when you sound _so sweet_ .” The noises leaving her lips were senseless, begging whimpers, pleas for more, never even specifying what she wanted more of. “Why do you wish to have your hands free anyway, Sarah, darling? Is it because you wish to _touch me_?” He thrust a little harder now and she almost shattered beneath him. “Is that it, Sarah? If you say it, I may be inclined to do as you ask.”

“I...I...” She couldn't think. Her brain was melting under this assault. It didn't help when his head returned to her heaving breasts and his attentions there began all over again.

“Say you need to touch me, and I might let you go. Say it, Sarah. Say that you want to touch me, that you _love_ me, and I will untie you.” She tried to stiffen, but his movements were too severe, and her wide-eyed surprise soon became wide-eyed desire. Jareth merely fixed his mouth upon her swollen lips again. “Say that you love me, Sarah, only me, just me forever. Say you're dying to touch me, and I will do _whatever_ you ask of me.” He ground into her harder, and she almost had to bite into his shoulder in desperation. “ _Say it_.”

“I love you!” She was crying out before she could think of what she was saying, and sex addled as her mind was, at that point she _really_ didn't care. He was bringing her right to the point of release, knew he might leave her there for _ages_ , make her _beg_ as he once had, and she just couldn't take it. “I _need_ to touch you, Jareth, _please_!”

His pupils were so wide it was as if his eyes no longer had any color to them, as he caught the end of the tie with his sharp teeth and pulled. Sarah gasped with relief as her hands came free, and before she could think of anything else to do, her fingers were buried in his impossibly silk hair, yanking his head to her so she might have fuller access to his mouth. His measured pace was becoming erratic now; he was close, she could feel it, and it drove her to writhe against him harder.

“Again, Sarah.” He thrust deeply against her, hard, so that she cried out and was driven over the edge, every muscle contracting in painful ecstasy. “ _Say it again_.”

“I love you!” She whimpered and shivered beneath him as the climax rode roughshod over her body, making her twitch deliciously beneath him. She was gasping for breath as her head fell back onto the pillow, face turned away from his as she attempted to slow her racing heart. “I love you...”

He groaned and pumped deeply within her; Sarah's right hand lingered along his shoulder as he poured his release within her, watching him grip her hips with almost bruising intensity. Her mind was clearing, but slowly, and she submitted to the fierceness of his kisses with weak acceptance. Why had she given in and said it...it wasn't like she even meant it, so why did he want to hear it. Even so, she couldn't complain as he lay atop her, his body still racked with the occasional shiver. If she were being honest or at least complimentary, her husband was an _amazing_ specimen in every single way, far outpacing any man she could have ever met in the Aboveground. His passions were as far beyond any mortal man as his cruelty. But if she _did_ love him, God, what did that say about her? Severe Stockholm Syndrome? Whatever – she just said it to make him let her go, it didn't necessarily follow that she _meant_ it-

Sarah froze, stiff as a board, beneath him, and the Goblin King didn't even notice. With a quiet, yet intense voice, she suddenly whispered, “Get off me, Jareth.”

The Goblin King was licking a bead of sweat from off the column of her neck and chuckled deeply in his narrow chest. “Not a chance, dearest. Now, to return to that delightful topic of-”

Sarah sat up fast enough that it actually threw him back a little, and her eyes burned in their sockets. “Get off me right now, or I _swear_ I will puke all over you.”

Jareth stared at her, blinking dumbly for a moment. He was too surprised to be angry, and after a moment's gawking, he shifted off the girl, who bolted immediately from the bed and ran to the bathing chamber. Usually Sarah liked to pull on her pink silk dressing gown, which Jareth found amusing, since he knew every inch of her wonderful body so intimately already (he preferred to lounge about in all his glory post-coitus to remind her of every sinful act they had just committed), but this time she did not even bother. The Goblin King listened carefully to the dull thud as her knees dropped to the marbled floor, and even winced a little at the wet, retching sound that soon followed. He gave the girl a moment's peace before stealing from the bed to examine her.

Sarah's dark hair hung limp about her, her already pale skin looking a little sickly and tallow in the low light of the bathroom. She was clinging to the marble bowl, a pained groan escaping her lips, and she murmured her thanks when her husband handed her a small glass of water. It felt cool slipping down her throat, and she gathered the strength to tilt her head up towards him – and nearly fell backwards.

Jareth was looming over her, positively _grinning_. In the dark of the room, his teeth were a haunting white glow, and she could see the sharp point of his canines very clearly. She scrambled back from him in a crab walk, suddenly terrified by the look alone. “W-what is it?”

He stepped towards her with a sense of purpose, and before his foot had even hit the marble floor, his bare form was covered over in his black silks, his leather gloves and high polished boots. Sarah could swear there was no breeze in the echoing chamber, but his hair and cloak seemed to move about him anyway. “ _Sarah_ ...” he half hissed, half purred, and it was a sound of sheer, horrible _delight_.

What could he be so happy fo- Sarah covered her mouth, a speck of vomitus still stuck at the corner of her lip. “ _No_ ,” she wheezed, still scrambling until her back touched the icy smooth wall. “ _No_!”

Jareth's grin did not falter even once.

 

* * *

 

 

Goblins were hanging about in every nook and cranny – that was by their nature. It had to be a big event for court hours to be completely canceled for the day. It was true their sovereign didn't _enjoy_ hearing their lists of complaints and suggestions from thirteen to one in the afternoon, but it was his duty as the Goblin King, and he took it very seriously, dispensing justice and righting wrongs. The dumber goblins of the Castle could not remember a single time court hours had been canceled before. The smarter ones, those who labored in the library or the kitchens or in capacities that took skill and intelligence, they remembered such an occasion very well, when the then Lady Sarah had stormed and destroyed the great Castle. It was of great interest to them, for that reason, that it seemed she was the cause of the cancellation yet again.

“ _Sarah_.” Her husband was cooing her name, tilting her chin up to face him or stroking her hands in an effort to stir her from this melancholic mood of hers. “My little Goblin Queen, why this long face, hm?”

“I just have the stomach flu,” she repeated in a morose monotone, her eyes never leaving the stone floor. “That's _all_ this is.”

“Beloved, must you crush all my hopes like this?” Sarah fixed her green eyed glare upon him and the King gave a wry smirk. “I suppose you must.”

Jareth had taken her to what he called the “healer's room.” Sarah would have preferred a real, Aboveground doctor, but she knew she would have no such luck. Even so, the walls were all washed white, and an exam table was draped in white linen, so in many ways, it felt similar to being back at her old general practitioner's office. What sort of healers did they have in the Underground? Beings of ancient magic, ones who made medicines from herbs and tree bark and fairy tears? She turned her head as the door opened.

“I apologize for the wait, Your Majesty.” Sarah's jaw dropped open. Bowing low before her was a creature in what she would have normally identified as a laboratory coat – except it was a _bear_ . An honest to God black bear stood up on his big, hind paws and adjusted his spectacles along his long nose. It was like Little Bear had grown up and gone to medical school, and Sarah _gawked_. “Now, what seems to be the trouble?”

“Can I call you Doctor Bear?” she blurted out before she could even register his question, and Jareth covered his mouth with a gloved hand in an attempt to hide his amusement.

“Doctor Bear” seemed less pleased, and he glowered just a little at the girl over his half moon glasses. “I am known as Healer Orso, my Queen.”

Sarah hopped off the exam table without a second's hesitation, her fingers immediately fondling the bear's rounded and fuzzy ears. “But you're a bear, right? Like, a real bear?”

Healer Orso was downright scowling while the Goblin King did his best to remain absolutely regal in the face of this entertainment. “I am an _Ursus americanus_ , yes.”

“Jareth, look how cute he is!”

“Indeed, love. Quite adorable.”

“ _Your Majesty_ .” Healer Orso shook himself the way an Aboveground cousin might shake water from his fur, and Sarah's fingers went to her mouth in sheer glee. “My appearance may be...fluffy, but I assure you, I am the most skilled healer in the Goblin Kingdom, and not a _teddy bear_ to be gawked over.”

“I'm sorry.” Sarah was murmuring only to keep the squealing from her voice, and she obediently pulled herself back onto the waiting table. “I've just never seen a bear doctor before.”

“Yes, well, I wager many of them have not seen you, either.” She giggled again as he brought his long, tubular stethoscope from out of one coat pocket. “Please breathe deeply, Your Highness.” Orso examined her head to toe, from her breathing and heart rate to her tongue and teeth. His inspection was thorough, eyes, ears, skin, all of it. It was probably a good idea, Sarah thought, since she had already spent months in the Underground. What kind of changes could that wrought in a girl? “What other symptoms have you been having, Majesty?” the black bear asked her, his long claw moving carefully along a list on a clipboard.

“Um...” Sarah's hands fidgeted in her lap. “I don't know. I've been fine, except the vomiting.”

“Have you experienced increased fatigue?”

Sarah leveled a hard glare at her husband, lounging as he was in a waiting chair. Jareth just smirked. “ _He_ doesn't let me sleep.”

“Any tenderness in your breasts?”

The girl flushed. “That just happens sometimes, like...hormonally.”

“And do your breasts seem...fuller?”

“Fuller?”

The bear looked at his monarch. Jareth crossed his lean legs and rested his chin on his fist, still with that stupid, satisfied smile all over his great, dumb face. “Oh yes. My Queen is filling out deliciously in that regard.”

“Sh-shut up, I haven't changed at all! Everything's the same.”

“It seems unlikely that that is the case, Your Highness.” He smiled and patted his giant paw pad against her knee. Sarah was not comforted. “But that alone is not definitive. There are some tests I can run, and then we will know for certain.”

“W-will it take long?”

“A little while. Not very long. You may relax with His Majesty, and I will be back just as soon as there is an answer.”

Sarah slid off the table as soon as Orso left the room, and before she could move in any direction, Jareth had seized her hand and pulled her onto his lap. “Aren't you excited, my sweet?”

Sarah sat stiff as a board in his embrace, near to shaking. “I'm terrified.”

“Don't be. Nothing very bad is going to happen. If you aren't, things continue on as they are, and we will be patient. And if you are...” His voice dropped off lowly, his mismatched eyes gazing far away and clearly pleased with the thought.

“If I am...what?” Sarah hesitated, definitely trembling now.

Jareth's brow moved as she drew his attention back to her, and he cradled her soft face in his hands. “Then you will have given to me a precious gift I can scarce ever repay...” He took her hand in his own and pressed it tenderly against his lips. “I would truly be your slave, Sarah...I would owe you _everything_...”

“S-stop.” The conversation was making her uncomfortable, and she was truly shaking now.

“Would it truly be so terrible? To be loved by me?”

“Jareth-”

He took her face in his hands again. “Do I not treasure and adore you? Have I not made you the center of my universe? What more could you possibly wish for?”

“It's not that I want more, it's that I want something else entirely.”

“Oh Sarah.” His fingers had entwined in her long, dark hair and held her still, so that she was forced to look into his eyes – and it felt like she might drown in that gaze. “I know it has not been an easy change. It was difficult for me as well. But can you not see the sense in it? How....well we fit together?” The King's gloved hand ran up her leg, pausing only to keep her skirt from obstructing his forward path, and he was stroking high up her thigh when the door opened again.

The bear held a vial of some strange liquid in his paw, his expression unreadable. “Majesties,” he bowed; Sarah tried to scoot off her husband's lap, but he held her firm, his hand never moving from her thigh. “I have the answer you seek.”

 

* * *

 

 

The girl could be seen running full tilt out of the Castle.

_News spread like wildfire. Goblins were murmuring throughout the halls, in every shadowy corridor, in every forgotten corner of the great stone palace. And when the Castle goblins had all been informed, the word went to the City goblins as well._

Sarah briefly considered plunging straight into the Labyrinth, but she didn't. She put her hands up and skidded to a halt before she could hit the wall – or at least, she thought that's what she did. When she blinked open her whingeing eyes, she saw that rather than stopping short of the wall, the wall had bent itself to accommodate her. Power over the Labyrinth, huh...?

_In so densely populated an area, gossip moved quickly. Passing fairies overheard market mongers, and their little lips were always loose. From there, the fieries were soon informed, and they began throwing heads in glee. One sailed over a wall, into a tunnel, and shouted the news to the False Alarms as it rolled on by._

She was quick to find a gate and stood before it, hands still outstretched. “Open up and lead me to somewhere far away!” she cried out to it, and she could hear the creaking of the boards. “I want to go far away from here!”

_The False Alarms bellowed the news throughout the tunnels, where a mouse overheard. The mouse skittered into the hedge maze, where it was quick to whisper what it had learned to a passing worm. The worm informed his wife, who hurried off to let her sewing circle know of the wondrous happenings, and from there it reached even the very outsides of the Labyrinth's walls, to a bent little gardener with sad eyes._

As instructed, the gates of the Goblin City did not open upon the trash heaps, as they usually did, or even the major roadway to neighboring kingdoms. No, at its Champion's behest, the walls of the Labyrinth gave way to a sparsely wooded area, a little goat path meandering between the trees. The fall sunlight dappled the grass, dying leaves dropping here and there as autumn made its way through the Goblin Kingdom. It reminded Sarah a great deal of the park near her house, of the days she spent pretending to chase fairies through the bowers. Looking down the intriguing trail made her feel like she was a fairy tale princess all over again, even if she already was a fairy tale queen. She might as well see where the path took her. She walked slowly at first, to take in the sights of the gently waving, thin ash trees, but a sense of foreboding and of energy overtook her soon after, and she started her run again.

Sarah wasn't worried about becoming lost, though she had no idea where she was going, her skirts hitched around her knees. She was certainly not adept with magic still, she couldn't go “poofing” about like Jareth did, but she could call upon the power of the Labyrinth, and it would eagerly respond to her. If, for some reason, it could not show her the way back to the Castle, she had no doubt her husband would come looking for her.

She ran on as the ash trees gave way to thick and sturdy pines. She ran on as ivy and eye fungus wrapped the trunks and peered after the galloping Queen. She did not stop even when the line of trees suddenly ended and she found herself in a glorious meadow, charging up a sloping hill. At the crest stood an ancient, gorgeous willow tree, its dainty leaves green and gold in the dying world, and its whip-like branches swayed gently over a small, crystal clear pool. It was only here that Sarah slowed to a halt, a stitch in her side, her calf muscles aching from her insistent pace. White flowers ringed the willow trunk and swayed in a gentle breeze, and the Goblin Queen fell to her knees, her breath coming in heavy, short bursts – from the exertion, and from the threat of tears.

“This can't be happening to me!” she cried aloud, wondering if she could make the Labyrinth undo the damage that was done to her life. With no one around to witness it, she had no qualms about shouting, “It isn't fair, it isn't fair! Why does this have to happen to me! I-! I...” Tears slipped down her face, and Sarah drew her knees up to her chest, her cheek laying across the bend of her legs and her arms wrapped around herself. She was crying with the desperation of a child, which was how she felt. She couldn't do this, she was _so young_! She'd never made any pretense at home about being grown up. What would Dad and Karen say? How could she live like this! “I hate my whole, stupid life!”

Sarah intended to cry long and hard and feel good and sorry for herself, but she felt a tap at her shoulder, and turned; she expected her husband, since he was so bad about letting her have time to herself, but instead she found...one of those white lily flowers was being held out to her, and a soothing voice gently murmured, “Dearest Queen, what ails thee?” It would have been a tender moment.

But the flower was being offered to her by a branch of the willow tree.

Sarah let out a scream of surprise – though how anything could surprise her in the Goblin Kingdom now, she did not know – and began to scramble backwards, away from the bewitched arbor. Her feet, however, quickly became tangled and she felt herself pitching back, straight for the gazing pool behind her, her hands outstretched in an effort to grab onto _anything_ to stop her descent.

Before she could make another sound, several branches of the willow tree had shot out and wrapped themselves around her back, making a kind of hammock to catch her in, gently righting her. “My lady!” it protested, a kind of chuckle in its voice. “You nearly fell into the pond, dear girl.”

“ _How are you talking_! You're a tree!”

“Indeed I am, fairest Queen.” It still seemed to be chuckling, and its branches delicately guided her back into a seated position, pulling back stray wisps of her dark hair. “How does anyone speak, though?”

“Vibration of the vocal cords,” Sarah bit back through gritted teeth, yet she accepted the flower when it was offered to her again, holding it between her small fingers.

“Is _that_ how it is done?” It was definitely the most bemused tree Sarah had ever carried a conversation with. “Thou canst not imagine my surprise.”

Sarah sighed, twirling the stalk of the lily between her fingers. “You're a bit of a sarcastic willow, aren't you?”

It stroked her pale cheek with a branch, and she actually giggled a little; the motion tickled. “I have been called many things, but chief among those titles is, 'most devoted servant.' I ask again, what ails thee?”

She sighed again, looking into her lap a while. “...I'm going to have a baby...”

“What splendid news!” His (for the tree's voice was distinctly masculine) branches quivered, the leaves swaying with excitement. At Sarah's non-reaction, the genuine sadness upon her face, he stopped his movements. “Yet I sense this does not please thee.”

Sarah's breath shook with effort, it came as a sigh from her red mouth, and it looked like she may cry again. “I _can't_ have a baby! I'll never get out of the Underground if I have a child here!”

“You wish to depart?”

“I don't _belong_ here. I live in the Aboveground; my family, my friends, they're all there.”

About her, the willow tree nodded. Sarah looked up into his flowing canopy that draped over her like a curtain, and felt...strangely protected. “I sense thy discontent. Yet also do I sense – your ties within the Underground are great.”

Sarah looked down again, biting her lower lip. “I have power over the Labyrinth...I guess the longer I stay, the deeper it goes.”

“And thou hast made many friends, hast thou not?”

“Friends?” Did he mean Hoggle, or Didymus or Ludo, the friends Jareth still refused to allow her to visit? Or did he mean...the goblins? “There are people I care about, yes...”

“And wouldst thou be sad to leave them as well?”

“Look, is this supposed to be making me feel better?” she snapped a little, lightly tossing the lily beside her. “Because it's really not. I _get_ it: my life is a big, complicated mess. But can someone _please_ get my perspective here? I'm just living my life, trying to graduate school, and all of a sudden, I'm abducted from my bedroom, married, and getting railed by my childhood nemesis!” The branches of the tree quivered; it was laughing to itself. “I'm so glad you think this is funny.”

“My most humble apologies, my Queen. Your manner of speech is just...refreshing.”

Sarah sighed and let herself flop back against the tree's sturdy trunk. It wrapped two thin branches around her shoulders in an embrace, and it did make her smile a little. “I know I can't get out, but I guess I just always hoped...” Her voice trailed off and she shook her head, green eyes very sad. “It's impossible now....I-I've been trying to make the most of my life here, I _swear_ I have, but I'm not ready for this!”

“Yes...many a mother is not. We go through this life with stumbling feet, unprepared for what may lie ahead of us. Yet we persevere.”

“Thank you, oh Zen Master Tree.” She rolled her eyes.

The tree was laughing again. “You are a most witty young woman. The King must count himself fortunate to have thy hand to his.”

“I guess I should have expected this,” she murmured. “I mean, he goes after me like a dog humping a leg, it was just a matter of time.” The tree shook around her again, and it actually made Sarah smile softly before becoming serious once more. “It's not that I didn't want kids _someday,_ but now? After all this? A-and I...” She stammered and seemed to grow upset again. “I-I don't want to hate my own baby...”

The tree swayed; he seemed quite curious as to what the girl could mean. “Hate? Why wouldst thou hate thy progeny?”

Sarah sighed again, her knuckles to her lips in an attempt to keep her composure. “Mom wasn't ready to have me, she thought we were keeping her from her dreams...so she left. S-she said she resented us, and she didn't want that, so the only thing to do was to _go_ .” Sarah brushed the back of her hand over her eyes, refusing to break down _again_ that day. “Wouldn't I do that? If I have a baby, I really am stuck here, because I wouldn't, couldn't leave like Mom did – but that just means I _would_ resent them! It isn't _fair_!”

The tree wrapped himself tighter around his Queen in an effort to soothe her, to stop her from collapsing as it seemed she might at any moment. “Dearest child, thou hast proved thy worth merely through thy concern.”

“W-what?” She sniffled hard and twisted her fingers around a stray branch.

“Shouldst thou be selfish, as thy mother, thou wouldst not care if the babe was the cause of hate or of love. But as you worry, you show that it is love you wish, and so love you _must_ give.”

“I really wish you could just say things straight forward rather than all this fancy lingo...”

“Hmm...” he laughed deeply in his tree throat, tucking a branch beneath her chin. “I say merely this: thou shalt be a _fine_ mother, even if untried and unsure. It was thus for all women, through all of time, both Under and Above.”

“I'm glad for the vote of confidence,” Sarah gave a dry response. “But I just don't feel the same way. I'm a freaking high school drop out now, you know? And _pregnant_. There are TV shows about this! Bad ones, on trashy networks!”

“I have not the slightest clue to what you refer.”

“Jareth never respects me,” Sarah hissed through her teeth, her ire suddenly up. “I say, 'No, Jareth, I don't want to go Underground and marry you.' He does it anyway. I say, 'No, Jareth, I am a freaking _virgin_ , let's not have sex all over the place, _I'm not ready_ .' He does it anyway! And I say, 'Jareth, I am _not ready to have a baby_.' He freaking gets me pregnant. I swear he does this shit on purpose.”

“'Tis common enough for wife to hold some dissatisfaction with husband.”

“This goes _way_ beyond dissatisfaction. This is some marriage counseling shit right here.”

“I see.” The willow seemed to nod around her, and Sarah drew her thin bolero jacket tighter about her shoulders; it was thin as spider's silk, and she could see that the afternoon was starting to die around her. It was growing cold. “What wouldst satisfy thee?”

“What?”

“What could thy husband do to give thee peace? If, as you say, you cannot escape, how to sweeten the deal, as it is said?”

Sarah looked down and picked up the discarded lily. “I guess I hadn't thought about that much...”

“Is it gifts that you lack? Appreciation? Affection? Many a woman wishes for more affection.”

“It's not that, not really...”

“What, then?”

Sarah looked up, her jaw set with a bit of new determination. “I want what I think to _matter_ , not for him to just ignore it like he does everything else.”

“Canst thou tell him this?”

She smiled a little, looking up into the canopy of the willow tree. “...guess I have to try, don't I?”

“It is the wisest course, yes.”

“You're pretty smart, for a tree, you know.”

“And you, dearest lady, are tolerable company, for a mortal child.”

“Your compliments are just overwhelming.” Sarah stood, brushing stray bits of grass from her legs. “I guess I got what I needed, some time to think and scream and be alone. Time to go be a...a...responsible Queen and mother.” She sighed and smiled, patting the bark of the tree. “Even if I don't want to be, it's what I am, so gotta make the most of it, right?”

“True wisdom indeed, my Queen.”

“Thanks.” She hugged the tree, which was a bit odd, but started back down the hill toward the line of the forest, twirling the lily in her fingers as she went. Jareth really didn't deserve any help from her in making this sham of a marriage work – but she'd rather be successful than petty, so she figured she'd just have to swallow a little pride, and hope he'd do the same.

 

* * *

 

 

“Queen look sad again...” the Goblin Guardsman rumbled with nervous discontent, peeking through the doors of the Throne Room.

“But _baby_ ,” Tweezledown whined, entirely enthusiastic about the prospect of a baby the goblins could play with that wouldn't be taken away and given to some awful fey family. The goblins _adored_ children, but had no idea that their rough antics were inappropriate, such was their enthusiasm.

Wog stopped grooming his ears in the alcove and thought, a noble prospect on his part. “Maybe baby what make her sad?” The horrified gasps around him made him shrink down somewhat. “Just thought...”

“Move, move!” Boltsneeze was hurrying through the gathering crowd, bustling through the Throne Room doors. His wings beat hard to keep himself righted, a large package balanced atop his knobby head. Goblins dove out of his path as the majordomo made his way to the King and Queen in their respective thrones, bowing low before them. “'Nother package, Majesty!” he cooed with drippy enthusiasm.

“Ah,” Jareth purred, taking it in one gloved hand while he studiously ignored the goblins before him; the plaintiff claimed the defendant had eaten his entire store of pig's feet. The defendant didn't deny this either, mounting the defense of, “it was tasty.” “Thank you, Boldrip.”

“Boltsneeze...” Sarah sighed, her cheek resting on her fist. The little goblin bowed again anyway.

The plaintiff and defendant continued to yammer away, even as Jareth completely tuned them out, handing the white package over to his wife. “Well, precious? Isn't it like Christmas for you?”

“Oh yeah, if the gifts I was getting were all reminders of my impending doom.”

“Oh Sarah, don't be so gloomy,” her husband chuckled, tucking his gloved fingers under her chin. “It's only a little mood swing, nothing more.” He shook the package in her hand, pressing his thin lips very close to her ear. “Aren't you curious about unwrapping it...?”

By this point, she really was not. It had been surprising at first when the packages came rolling in; gifts from far off places with names she had never heard before. There was even a gift from the Winter Kingdom's new monarch. The surprise quickly turned to dread, however, as each subsequent gift was unwrapped: baby items. Troll King Eradmol sent a shrunken head, guaranteed to be a useful talisman to ward off the child's future enemies. Sarah dropped it as soon as she touched it, and the goblins took to playing catch with it before the Goblin King made them return it. The Fairy Queen Appleblossom sent a gorgeous toy rabbit, its fur as soft as down, and it looked entirely lifelike – and it would become real, a note assured, once the child believed it to be real. A wacky Velveteen Rabbit, then? It didn't make Sarah feel any better. And from someplace she'd never heard of, with a name she couldn't pronounce, came a string of semiprecious stones meant to be used for teething.

The Goblin Queen wanted to be sick. She wanted her mind off her current state of creation, and _no one_ in the Underground would allow that.

“Open it, Sarah,” Jareth was insisting with a hint of annoyance in his smooth voice, and he placed her fingers at the seams of the package's paper. Sarah sighed and did as told. This item came from the High King and Queen, and she lifted it up from the box, curious: a mobile for the crib? The mobile's center was glassy and warm to the touch, and she could see clouds swirling through it – and was that a bird? “My,” Jareth whispered with appreciation, gently taking it from his wife's hands. “It has a protection enchantment as well, for the child's dreams.”

“It's...a mobile, right? To hang over the crib?”

“Mhm.” Her husband nodded, turning it over in his hands. “But it's not some static image or hanging felt, like you might see in the Aboveground. Look closely: it shows the sky in real time. You'll be able to see the movements of the stars across the heavens come nightfall.”

Sarah felt her stomach clench a little, and wondered if it was nausea. No, not this time – she was _actually_ touched by the gift. “It's...k-kind of beautiful.”

“It's an extravagant treasure, much magic went into the making of this.”

Sarah took it back, turning the mobile this way and that. “Do you think you'll be able to see raindrops during storms? Wouldn't that be neat for the baby, to be able to...” She dropped off, noticing the way Jareth was looking at her. His chin rested on his fist, his elbow perched on the edge of his throne, and the intensity within his strange eyes made Sarah's stomach flip again. “W-what...”

He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the whining of the defending goblin. “-and if I _hadn't_ eaten those pig's feet, then I would have kept on being hungry, and that just ain't right! It-”

“Enough.” Jareth's nostrils flared with irritation, and Sarah carefully put the mobile back in its container, handed off to Boltsneeze for storage in the nursery. “You will repay the plaintiff, either in the amount of pig's feet you consumed, or its monetary value.” Sarah didn't think he'd been paying any attention to the goblin nonsense, but she was constantly surprised by Jareth when it came to court hours, as he seemed to pick up on every nuance and whisper without giving any outward sign of listening at all. “Dismissed. Bumblesnuff.”

“Boltsneeze.”

“Yes, Majesty?” he asked, never caring if his name was wrong or not – and even a little irritated at the Queen for correcting his sovereign – bowing low.

“Do you have any other cases on the docket to completely _waste_ my time with?”

“E-er...” The goblin steward hesitated, flipping through mud-stained pages. “No, Majesty.”

“Very well...” Jareth sighed, his other least favorite part of court hours on hand. “Let them all in.” Goblins _poured_ into the Throne Room; some carried chickens above their heads, others paper tubes for blow darts. One came in attached to the leg of a vulture, another with a leashed pig in miniature armor. As the goblins _adored_ their King to the point of excess, it was a matter of national stability they be given _some_ time daily in his presence, and that was how the hour from one to two was passed, in gleeful chaos and absolute _boredom_ for the Goblin King. He had found it, however, considerably more amusing now that he had a darling partner by his side to occupy him during this hour, before the goblins would be banished back to the rumpus room or the halls or the City. Jareth grinned his devil's grin and lay the soft end of his riding crop under his wife's chin. Sarah glared over the strap of leather. “How goes it, love? Tired, hungry, ill?”

“Sick to my stomach, don't worry.”

“My _darling_ ,” he purred, sitting up and leaning over the arm of his throne so that he lorded over her, as though he might fall upon her at any moment. Sarah refused to cower before him. “Knowing your cross temper, I know next you will say it is not due to the pressures of motherhood, but to my ignoble presence?”

“Jareth – you took a hint. Congratulations.”

“Little you know how besotted I am,” he sighed, running his gloved fingers down her soft cheek, so that Sarah cast her glance away from him – it was either that or be drawn into his hypnotic eyes, his honeyed words, and she did _not_ want that. “That even venom from that lovely tongue is as sweet as nectar to me.”

“Ugh...”

“Besides, I know how to soothe that foul humor of yours.” He was grinning at her, which usually made Sarah nervous, but she couldn't help but watch as he twisted his wrist and produced-

“Oh, _damn it_. Alright, give it to me.” She reached over the arm of the throne, but Jareth simply pulled his hand away, so that she had to reach clear across his torso. He'd made a chocolate bar with almonds, her current and complete weakness. Sarah's cravings for chocolate with almonds had reached an absolutely fevered pitch, though it had never been a particular favorite of hers before. Yet even so, she had such a candy bar after every meal, even breakfast, and often munched on chocolate covered almonds throughout the day.

But Jareth was teasing her again, and he grinned still as he held it just out of her reach. “Kiss me first.”

“ _Get real_.”

“Kiss me, or sit upon my lap.”

“That's _worse_!”

“Such a little thing, Sarah, my sweet. Isn't it worth it to you?”

“Jareth,” she growled, green eyes glowering. “You are keeping chocolate away from your _pregnant wife_ . I want you to think _carefully_ about your next actions.”

Before the Goblin King could further antagonize his bride, a loud ruckus began among a knot of goblins in the Throne Room. Sarah watched as Jareth stood, kicking gawkers out of his way as he moved to break up the altercation. Wog had his teeth well into the tuft of black fur atop Bugwit's hair, who, for his part, was yanking hard on his friend's boarish tail. Nogtwit was wailing his distress, a high pitched keen that could grate on the ears of the most patient of men – which the King was _not_ . “ _What is going on_ ,” he snarled, and all but the two fighters instantly drew away with cowering expressions on their faces.

Bugwit and Wog could only be separated by the Goblin Guard, who pulled them apart with vicious fingers. Boltsneeze was wagging a scolding finger at them. “Why you fight, you tell King!” he admonished by his sovereign's boot. Jareth kicked him a few inches away as well.

Wog was growling, his wrinkly lips curled into a snarl. “Bugwit say Tweezledown like him better!” For her part, Tweezledown was nowhere to be seen, Sarah noted, carefully picking her way through the staring crowd.

“She do!” Bugwit puffed his chest, smoothing his unruly tuft of black hair with pride. “She say so.”

“Not!”

“Too!”

“ _Not_!”

“ _Too_ -”

“ _I don't care_.” Jareth snapped his fingers, and the crowd drew a few inches back in terror as the Queen approached his elbow.

This was, perhaps, the greatest disapprobation, for the smooth forehead of the much beloved Goblin Queen was lined with unhappiness. “Boys...it's not like you to fight.” Both Bugwit and Wog dropped to the ground, ears pulled back with their shame. “I'm very disappointed in you.” Nogtwit's keening doubled in volume.

Jareth grimaced with sharp teeth visible, and he swept a gloved hand through his silvery mane of hair. “Do you hear that? You've disappointed the Goblin Queen.” The two began to shake with terror, but the King was relatively lenient – for his usual moods. “I declare court hours to be concluded. Get out, all of you little idiots.”

Bugwit and Wog were tossed vicious glares by their compatriots as everyone slunk from the Throne Room, disappointed to have the day's fun cut short so soon. Sarah watched them go with a sad sigh, and just caught Jareth before he could leave as well. “W-wait.”

“Hm?” He perked up slightly, touching where her fingers met his elbow. “Did you reconsider that kiss, then, love?”

Sarah's nose wrinkled even as she blushed, and she shook her head. “N-no, there's something I've been needing to talk to you about...”

“Talk?” Carefully pulling her along, Jareth reset her on the throne, looking interested. “Whatever could you have to say, precious thing?”

“Well...it's about....you know, _us_.”

“I'm listening.”

Sarah felt stupid and uncomfortable, beet red and twisting her hands in her lap. What in the hell was she supposed to say? _So, I guess apparently I want to make our marriage work, because here are the things you do that upset me, and I'm actually getting the gumption to tell you-_ She'd opened her mouth to stammer something like that out, but noise from the hallway interrupted them again.

Jareth looked positively murderous. Sarah gulped a little and bolted from her seat as he stalked to the door, and she grabbed his hand in an effort to pull him back from the arguing goblins beyond the entryway. It did not work. The fey yanked the doors open with a vicious crack, and the bickering goblins were smart enough to go silent and attempt to scatter. This worked no better, for the King's magic hemmed them all in, and they smacked their little noses up against invisible walls. “ _Was I not clear during the first interruption_?”

“Jareth,” Sarah was pleading; she twined his fingers with her own, pressed the length of her body against his arm and did her best to be alluring. “Don't be like that, please. Look how sorry they are already.”

“Not sorry enough.”

He lifted his hand to banish the whole lot to the Bog of Eternal Stench, but before he could snap his fingers, Sarah seized his chin, yanked his head in her direction, and planted a full and passionate kiss upon his lips. All the little goblin eyes stared, some even murmuring, “ _Ooooer_....” The King wasn't an idiot, he wasn't going to be put off merely because his wife had kissed him – publicly. And initiated it as well. He desired her, but he wasn't stupid, so Sarah pressed on before he could make his next move.

“They're like children, you know? They just need occupation. We could...give them a quest or something, something to get them out of the way.”

“Getting _them_ to do anything is like herding cats.”

“Cats?”

“Cats?” A dozen little goblin mouths opened to belt about the Jellicle Ball before their monarch swiftly cut them off.

“And there will be _no singing_!”

Sarah clapped her hands together in desperation, and her subjects turned their attention to her. “Okay, scavenger hunt! Whoever, um...whoever...” They were all staring at her, and that included Jareth. She swallowed hard, but pressed on. “Whoever finds the ultimate rattle for the new baby gets a prize!”

“Prize?”

“Prize?

“What prize!” They were suddenly all bouncing and alert, little mouths working. “Prize,” “Prize,” “Prize-!”

Sarah looked herself over in desperation, and finally pulled a diamond studded hairpin from her tresses. It made a twisting lock of her dark hair fall into her face, and her husband watched it with a sudden hunger; it was the little things that set off his desire for her. “The royal hair pin. Deal?” She needn't say anything else. Goblins tore off in all directions, she practically expected them to leave smoke trails behind them like a cartoon. She would have sighed with relief and slumped against a wall – but she saw the way Jareth was looking at her. “W-what...?” The King said nothing; he simply bent forward and scooped the girl into his arms. “ _Jareth_!” She kicked her legs and thrashed her arms in an effort to be put down, but his unerring stride was carrying them straight toward the bedroom.

“With court hours canceled, I have a sudden empty place in my schedule. And I know just how to... _fill_ it.” Sarah gulped again, but didn't bother fighting, as if it would have done her any good anyway.

 

* * *

 

 

City goblins found their homes overturned by their searching cousins, pots broken, larders plundered. When nothing suitable was found there, the hedge maze was mangled, and a certain gardening dwarf grumbled excessively about nasty goblins and their mischievous ways. No hill nor dale was left alone, and in desperation, many a little goblin even drove themselves to the Bog of Eternal Stench.

Tweezledown hefted a rock above her head, cheeks puffed out as she tried to hold her breath against the truly horrible smell that seemed to permeate her entire being. No success there either, she tossed the offending stone, which landed in the Bog with a “plop.” Her fellows scattered, lest they be hit by even a drop of the noxious liquid. “No good!” she whined. “No rattles here neither!”

A grumbling goblin was attempting to uproot a tree in his desperation, and he huffed angrily. “Maybe Queen make impossible task.”

“No!” Wog shook his wrinkly head. “She no do that!”

But as the days turned to weeks and the search for the ultimate rattle for the future Goblin Prince dragged on, goblin tempers ran thinner and thinner.

They were not alone in this. Sarah's temper was frayed at even the best of times in her life Underground, but the mood swings that wracked her body drove her to new highs and lows that were exhausting for both herself and those around her – namely, her husband.

For the first time in a millennium, the nursery was being opened. Jareth was eager to show it off to the mother of his heir, drawing back heavy curtains to allow sunlight to touch where it had not in many ages. Sarah stood in the middle of the floor, a soft rug beneath her feet, and felt increasingly ill. A large fireplace dominated the wall to her left, and between that and the window stood a crib on runners, the symbol of the Labyrinth at its headboard. In the opposite corner stood a changing table, and beyond that, a box full of soft toys, things safe for little hands and little mouths. For when the child was older, a rocking horse stood; a great black charger, his head held high and mane flying as though he was already carrying his Prince into a great battle. The saddle and tack were all real leather, the bits were all gold, and red streamers hung from his withers. It was a stallion, she noted with her mouth thinned, and it just figured that the Goblin Kingdom would give a child an anatomically correct horse. In a massive wardrobe, there were more blankets, hats, jackets, socks, booties and jumpers than she could ever recall seeing, and she'd sat through Karen's baby shower, and that woman's friends all had ticking biological clocks. They were all very soft things, safe for an infant's skin, but still regal and befitting his station. Sarah's arms wrapped around her stomach and she felt like she was going to cry _again_.

“You have yet to see the best part, Sarah,” Jareth was continuing with a real, true smile on his face. It would normally have effected her very deeply, but she felt like she was going to fall apart at any moment. The King cleared his throat, addressing the empty air. “Nurse. Rock the cradle, would you?” On cue, the cradle began to rock smoothly and slowly, back and forth, back and forth. The mobile from the High Court turned delicately above, a fall storm flitting across its surface. Jareth grinned at his Queen. “It's a magic similar to the Labyrinth, love, see? It works on its own. The child will be shushed and fed and even changed without you needing to worry your lovely head about a thing.”

“ _Please_ ,” Sarah was begging, her lower lip trembling. “Don't make me see this right now...”

Jareth's smile quickly dropped, his temper fraying thin. “Must you insist on making the joyous _depressing_ , Sarah? It grows tiresome.”

“ _You're_ tired!” She wasn't sure if she was crying or shouting. Probably both. “I feel _horrible –_ all the time! All my choices were taken from me, and now my body's being usurped as well! It's...it's... _parasitic_!”

He seized her upper arm and she cried out a little, more tears slipping free down her cheeks. “I will not have you speaking of our child so.”

“ _You really don't care about how I feel at all, do you_!”

“ _I might if it made any kind of sense and weren't completely selfish_!”

“ _I'm_ selfish?” She was screaming, hands balled at her hips, which became rounder and smoother every day. “What about _you_ ! You never _once_ asked me about what I wanted, not ever! And you can't yell at me when I'm _pregnant_ , _Jareth_!”

“When _can_ I yell at you, _Sarah_?” His teeth were set, seething. “You have no qualms screaming your head off at me!”

“ _It's bad for the baby_!”

“ _You say that any time you don't want me around_!”

“ _Well gee, maybe you'd get a fucking hint by now_ !” He seemed about ready to grab her and drag her down into an oubliette as he had done often when they first were wed; Jareth never abused his wife in these situations, despite how the picture looked. Rather, it was an entirely private way for them to yell at one another to the point of hoarseness without being overheard, which was something the stuffy monarch _detested_. Sarah, however, did most of the yelling. When she seemed on the point of exhaustion, that was when her husband struck, a seductive battle that always ended with her pressed against the wall and him making her scream for entirely different reasons. He would exhaust her and there would be peace for a few days.

The Queen, however, was not about to give in that easily, and ducked out of his grasp, bolting for the door. Jareth easily could have stopped her, he could have transported her without even being within an inch of her – but it wasn't worth the effort. She was _exhausting_ him, which had always been a habit of hers, but now it was far worse. He could not keep up with the head spinning changes in her mood, but it did not occur to him that neither could she, and it was a deep source of upset for her. Still, to see Sarah _this_ unhappy was....painful. He could ignore her bouts of tears and hissy-fits well enough before, but this was supposed to be the beginning of a truly wonderful event for them: a child, a _family_ , something they had created _together_. That she might not want it, might not want a part of him and what they had made through their most ancient of bonds...it was one of the few things that could crack his cold facade.

It seemed that, once again, they did not lack an audience, for Healer Orso came ambling down the hall, his long, furry head poking into the nursery room door. “I saw Her Majesty disappearing down the hallway.” The Goblin King glowered at him and the poor bear shrunk back slightly. “I mean no intrusion, Majesty, I bring only her daily vitamin supplement.”

Jareth snatched the concoction from his paw, giving it a peremptory sniff. Ugh, no wonder Sarah hated these, if they tasted as poorly as they smelled. “The Queen is going out of her mind, and driving me to madness in the process.”

The black bear chuckled slightly, taking off his spectacles with careful claws to wipe them along his lab coat. “That is often the case with expecting mothers, Your Majesty.”

“Something _must_ be done. Perhaps I shall give her another peach, let her spend the remaining months in a dreaming state.”

“I do not recommend that course of action, Your Highness,” he said with a bow of his head. “For the health of mother and child, it is best she have occupation and exercise. Moreover, I suspect it would be much worse for you when she awakens.”

Jareth gave a put upon sigh, rolling his eyes and facing the window, gloved hands tucked behind his back. “How much worse could it _possibly_ get?”

“Majesty...” Orso was very cautious, his long nose sniffing the air for any sign of danger from his sovereign. “Please, forgive me that I make so bold, but it bears considering: the Queen is very young, without family in this world. There are few fey mothers who could give her much insight into a very trying time in her life, and even if there were, they are strangers to her, of little comfort.”

Jareth turned slowly, his terrible eyes narrowed at his healer. “What are you suggesting?”

Orso gulped a little, steeling his courage. He really hoped this worked...

 

* * *

 

 

For the King to appear in the doorway of the rumpus room, the situation must be _dire_. Goblins had been cavorting about as their natures prompted them, playing games, making messes, grooming chickens and drinking ale. This all came to a grinding halt as soon as their sovereign's shadow crossed the threshold. They gasped loudly and stared.

Jareth looked over his ragtag assortment of subjects with a careful, disgusted eye. Which were the ones Sarah was so fond of...ah. “You.” He pointed at Bugwit, who saluted smartly. “You.” Wog hunkered down, worried he was being singled out for punishment. “And...” There was another one, wasn't there? “You, Twizzleduff.” Tweezledown bowed low, which was considered very genteel by her fellows. Nogtwit nearly fainted with relief at not having been selected. “Here, now.” The three scrambled over their brethren, many of whom remained rooted to the spot like so many shrubs.

“Majesty?”

“Majesty?” They bowed and scraped as was their duty, though Wog did so with a distrustful eye on his monarch the entire time.

Jareth looked the terrible trio over, a gloved finger tapping against his chin as he thought. The toe of his boot kept equal time. “I have a mission in the Aboveground for you.” Excited murmurs broke through the crowd, but Jareth cut them off with a single look. “The Queen is lonesome for...female company. Her mother would be a welcome surprise for her – and when the Queen is happy, _I_ am happy. Is that clear?”

The three little goblins all nodded enthusiastically, even Wog. “It _good_ idea, Majesty!”

“Great idea!”

“Best idea!”

“We bring lady down right now-”

“Idiots.” He kicked Bugwit a little, the poor boy skidding on his cloven feet. “I can't just _take_ the woman. Do you know nothing? No, she must wish herself into my power.”

Bugwit had recovered enough to scratch his tuft of hair, as he often did when attempting careful thought. The three looked at each other and were entirely clueless. “How that gonna happen?”

“ _You_ ,” he replied with a terrible, goblin grin, “are going to make it happen. Ready?” He held up a crystal on the tips of his fingers and they absolutely shook their heads no; how on earth were they going to manage _this_ task! “Safe journeys.” The crystal was tossed at the little band, and they disappeared in a puff of glitter and smoke, while their brothers in the rumpus room gasped with horror. Nogtwit had taken to keening again.

 

* * *

 

 

There was another crash from the side bedroom, and Jeremy was listening carefully in the kitchen. “ _Linda! I think the cat's into the dresser again_!”

“ _Fine, I'm coming_ !” Linda Williams huffed as she stormed from her library-stroke-studio. Why couldn't the man deal with the cat himself, he _knew_ she had lines she had to rehearse. She was grumbling to herself about five years together and how it was more his cat than hers when she reached the spare bedroom. Now, wasn't that funny? The cat had managed to shut itself in, the door was closed; no wonder the poor thing was causing such a fuss. Linda turned the handle. “Mr. Mittens! Are you in here?” The still-stunning actress flipped the light switch, but nothing was happening. This damn old brownstone... There was a crashing sound from the closet and she jumped a little. “Of all the...Mr. Mittens, you are a _naughty_ kitty!”

There was definitely a scratching noise coming from the dresser. Linda moved over to it, pulling open mostly empty drawers in search of the darned cat, when something tipped over. It was a small crashing sound, and it made the woman jump again. Her thin hand groped in the dark and came upon the smooth, cool edge of a picture frame. What the... Turning it right side up, returning it to its spot on the dresser, her breath hitched in her throat.

Sarah, it was Sarah's picture. The poor woman had to cover her rouged mouth with one dry hand. “Oh, Sarah, baby...” Tears were threatening to spill out of her eyes. More than four months she'd been missing, four months without any word. Linda knew she hadn't been the best of mothers; she hadn't been cut out for it. In that way, attempting the quiet suburban life with Robert had been a mistake. But she'd been young, she'd been scared then, she thought it was her only option. It wasn't a choice she regretted – she'd gotten Sarah out of the bargain. And if Linda wasn't good at putting her child first, of being there whenever she was needed, it wasn't due to a lack of love. That she had in spades.

“Oh, Sarah...” She was definitely crying now, and she held the picture to her breast, wishing she could have just one chance to be what her only daughter needed. “I wish...I just wish I could see you again, baby. Know that you're alright.” She nearly jumped out of her skin at the horrible, hair raising cackling that started all around her in the dark.

In the kitchen, Mr. Mittens jumped onto the marble counter top, pausing to lick a sleek, grey paw. Jeremy scolded him as he opened up the can of tuna fish, pushing the feline off the counter. “Well, out of the dresser then, are you? You are a fickle little beasty. _Linda, the cat's out_ !” He carefully drained the liquid from the can and into a dish for the mewing cat, humming a tune all the while. “ _Linda_!” Was she absorbed in that new script again? “....Linda?”

 

* * *

 

 

Her eyes felt heavy...no, not just her eyes. Everything felt heavy, her entire body, even the strands of her dark hair. _Where_ ...? Her eyes were slow to open, catching only color at first, a little light. It was a...a bed canopy, strawberry red, and it looked like silk, the way it reflected the light. _What scene is this_... “Jason,” she murmured sleepily, her mouth so dry. “Jason, darling, I've forgotten my line...” Where was the director when she needed him?

She stiffened in the bed – was she in the bed? - when she heard a door fly open with a “ _bang_ !” Her heart rate tripled, her green eyes shot open, her entire body went rigid. “ _Mom_!” That voice – it couldn't be. She was dreaming, it wasn't- “Mom, Mom, Mom!” There was a sudden weight on the bed, Linda Williams felt her body being smothered further, she gasped-

“ _Sarah_.”

Dear God, it was, it was her, her daughter, her child. _Sarah_ had her arms around her smooth neck, her face at her collarbone, and she squeezed fit to strangle the life out of her. “ _I'm so happy to see you_...” It sounded like she was crying. Linda's shaking hand came to pet her grown daughter's back, and she felt like the world was spinning.

“Have I died, is that what's happened?”

The girl gave a choked, laughing sob against her throat and pulled away slightly, wiping at her eyes. “No, Mom....you're alive. You're here, in the Underground.”

“In the _what_ ?” Linda was finally able to pull herself into a sitting position. It was definitely Sarah sitting before her, hands on her knees in her characteristic kneeling pose – but simultaneously, there was _no way_ it could be Sarah. This young woman was wrapped in a gown of purple silk, and there was no way it was anything other than genuine silk, because it reflected a myriad of blues and mauves as she turned in the light. The bodice and skirt were studded with stars, all made of individual crystal cabochons, and a small bolero jacket of matching silk protected her white shoulders. Her hair, a perfect match for Linda's, was swept back so that curls tumbled down to the level of her throat, and around that slim neckline was an intricate network of diamonds and silver, perfectly matching the star pattern on the dress. If this was Sarah, she'd had a busy four months.

But it could be no one else, for she planted an affectionate kiss on her mother's thin cheek, tightly squeezing her hand. “Do you remember when I was little, and you'd read to me? And my favorite book was that fairytale, 'The Labyrinth?'” Linda nodded, green eyes still as wide as saucers. “Do you remember that part, 'the King of the Goblins fell in love with the girl?'”

“Yes? Sarah, what does this have to do with anything? Where are we?”

Sarah pressed her lips together and tried to smile, though it was awkward at best. “...it was real, Mom. I mean – not quite like in the book, but...it was real.”

“Sarah.” Linda held her child's now grown face between her cool hands, trying to make her see sense. “Honey, you're sick. Whatever has happened, it's just your mind trying to wrap it in a way that makes it easier for you to deal with. That was just a story, it wasn't real.”

“Mom-”

“Don't worry.” She pulled her daughter close, and Sarah melted into her arms. “We're together now, and wherever we are, Mommy's going to get you out of here.”

“Really? After all the trouble I went to to bring you here? Is it the guest room you object to?” Linda gasped and Sarah stiffened in her arms; a man was in the open doorway. At least, she thought it was a man. Linda had spent most of her life in the theater and she'd met some pretty out there people, but she'd never seen anyone quite like... _that_. The ethereal creature leaned against the door jamb, his gloved hand at his lips, which he then moved to snap his fingers. “Sarah, love. Come here.”

Linda let the girl slip out of her embrace, watched her slide to the floor with her head bowed as her skirt made a soft swishing sound against the floor as she moved. Ms. Williams could scarce believe it. He had his arm around _her daughter's_ waist, had pulled her close to him in a clearly possessive manner. Linda sat up a little. “Excuse you, Sarah is _seventeen_.”

“Eighteen,” she whispered mutely. “I'm eighteen now. My birthday was...” A gulp. “May first.” May first? Of course it was, but that was the night she...

The man grinned, and Linda shuddered. His teeth were _sharp_. “A fact I am all too intimately aware of, Mrs. Williams.”

“ _Ms._ Williams,” she hissed in reply, not noticing Sarah shifting uncomfortably at his arm.

“Darling...” That monster was purring, his finger running along her daughter's cheek, and the movement was definitely _not_ appropriate. “You didn't tell her yet?”

“I was getting to it...”

“Tell me what? Sarah-”

The stranger turned so that Sarah stood before him, his arms around her stomach as his chin rested on her shoulder. “I owe you my eternal gratitude, _Ms._ Williams,” he grinned at her again. “You bore an _amazing_ daughter, one who makes me extremely happy. Isn't that right, my love?” He nuzzled his face into the crook of Sarah's neck, and the girl shivered. Linda's mouth fell open a little. “Now that Sarah has reached the age of majority, I haven taken her to wife – to be my _Queen_ , to be more specific.”

“You....what?”

“My Sarah is the Goblin Queen.” He kissed her cheek, and still Sarah's eyes were on the floor. That was it, Linda had figured it out. It was a wrap party, she'd gotten blitzed at a wrap party and this was how the alcohol was soaking through her subconscious. This was _not_ happening. “We've been enjoying a wonderful honeymoon, have we not, my precious thing?” There was more of the sassy girl she remembered: Sarah rolled her eyes and pulled away from him slightly. “Oh, come now.”

“Stop being a tease, Jareth.”

“I am not teasing, pet. To tease would mean I have no intention of following through on my caresses of you, and I have _every_ intention of _that_ .” He planted his mouth at the crook of her neck again, then let his eyes wander back to the stunned visitor in the bed. “When the time is more appropriate...” he grumbled slightly. Straightening and smoothing out his elegant coat, he continued in a dry voice, “As to 'getting out of here,' we are quite pleased to have you as our guest, but you are certainly not a prisoner here, Ms. Williams – would you prefer I referred to you as 'Mother?'” He grinned at the dark look that crossed her features. “No, I can see you would not...So, while it is true that you will be returned at the appropriate time, Sarah will be staying _right here_.”

Linda yanked the covers off of her, stumbling out of the bed with shaking hands. “Did you take my daughter?”

“I did.” His long, sharp nose was in the air, he seemed _pleased_ with the answer. “In every sense.” Sarah had flushed and made to elbow him, but he held her too tightly in his embrace. “Sarah was claimed by the Labyrinth for its Queen, and so she cannot ever truly leave. And I cannot allow her to _visit_ at the present, as the Aboveground would completely destroy my heir's magic, and that is unacceptable. So I brought you to her instead.”

The poor, middle aged woman had to put her fingers to her temples, head throbbing. “Magic? Heir? I must be out of my mind...”

“Must be,” Jareth was still grinning, but the smile dropped at the look his wife was giving him. “In any case...when one is brought to the Underground without a specific purpose or time limit, the atmosphere can be...difficult to adjust to. You would do well to rest, _Ms_. Williams.”

Sarah had at last pulled away from her husband's arms and took her mother's hand, gently leading her back to the bed. “Here, Mom. It's really comfy, I promise.” She kissed her and hugged her tightly, and Linda did not protest being gently pushed into a seated position on the bed. “I'll be here first thing in the morning. W-we're going to have so much fun together, just wait! I promise, I'll make everything perfect for you!”

“Sarah...”

The girl fluffed her pillows and quickly skittered back to her waiting husband. “It's going to be great, Mom. Goodnight...” Before Linda could make heads or tails of the situation, the pair had vanished and the candles in the room all guttered out. Her head hit the pillow with a soft sound, mind swimming. It had to be a wrap party, for sure...

In her own room, Sarah's hands were shaking as she tried to take the diamond necklace off. She could barely sit before the vanity in the master suite, so full of nervous energy was she. Jareth brushed her hands aside and finally did it himself, not seeming to notice as her eyes locked on his image in the vanity mirror. He simply handed her the jewels and moved away to stand before the fire, peering deep into its warm depths. For her part, Sarah could not take her eyes off of him, her breathing very shallow all the while. He did it, she thought with a rapidly beating heart. He actually did something _for her_. She knew how Jareth's jealousy worked, how little he would enjoy seeing his wife spend all of her waking hours with her mother – but he'd done it anyway. She then noticed that he was slowly removing his gloves as he continued to stand before the fire, and without thinking, rose from her seat and crossed to him.

The Goblin King said nothing as the girl approached him, one eyebrow raised in silent question, but it quickly became a look of total surprise as she knelt before him. Well, well, and it wasn't even his birthday, and she was giving him the submission he so loved... Without a word, Sarah brought his hands down so she could remove his supple leather gloves herself, kissing his bare palms with – it seemed – true adoration. He refused to admit it, but Jareth could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

Sarah's small hands smoothly moved up the taught muscle of his thighs, resting at the sharp point of his hips as she actually embraced him that way, her beautiful face turned up to him. “Jareth.” Her voice was a whisper in the darkness of the bedroom, the fire the only light. He said nothing and waited, watching her press a kiss onto his muscled thigh. “ _Thank you_. Y-you don't know what this means to me, y-you really-” She stopped, voice choked, and he could have sworn she purred as he stroked the satin of her long, dark hair.

They stood – well, he stood and she knelt – that way in the dark of the room for another moment, saying nothing. They were not good at speaking with one another, and so it was better that nothing was said. Without a word, Sarah slowly pulled his shirt from where it was tucked into his breeches, unbuttoning the lower buttons, the ones she could reach. Jareth slowly fussed with the rest as she peeled his tight trousers from his skin. Still voiceless, he tucked two fingers beneath her chin and Sarah rose to her feet, nuzzling the sharp line of his throat as he bent to slide one arm beneath her knees, to carry her to bed the way he had when he first claimed her. It was different now. Not better, but nothing was the same.

Jareth had become...tender since discovering she was “in the family way.” It wasn't that he wasn't capable of such gentleness before, he had often unnerved his bride with how suddenly he could soften in his ministrations to her. But more often than not, he was intense with his passions, almost rough, but never quite hurting. Not anymore. Now he _really_ made love to her, it kept knocking poor Sarah for a loop, how slow and considerate and even gentle he was with her at night. It felt like being worshiped, being adored, being... _loved_ . If she were being honest – which she usually was not – she did like the frenzied passion they often engaged in, but _this_ ...this was even more mind-shattering than usual. He could bring her to ecstasy over and over again with the way he took his time, ran his hands and lips and tongue over every last tantalizing part of her. She had the feeling he liked this, taking his time, in different ways; liked seeing her so helpless and longing beneath him. What was even more amazing, was that when Sarah asked him _not_ to press his attentions upon her – he would actually stop. It was unheard of.

She didn't mind knotting her fingers into his hair and crying out his name tonight. Jareth had actually done something _right_ , something for _her_ , and she was willing to praise him with every encouraging word, every murmur of pleasure that could pass her lips. It fed into the way he moved over and in her, which only served to make her more enthusiastic, so that the night ended with him holding her face still so they could look into each other's eyes as they reached mutual satisfaction, breathing labored. Sarah felt lost in his eyes tonight, and for once she was alright with that. Her arms wrapped around her husband's shoulders, and this time she was perfectly content to snuggle against him, to pillow her head along his arm and feel...warm, safe, _contented_. It was going to be okay, it was all going to be okay...

Sarah awoke in the dark, which didn't happen all too often, and it was usually Jareth's fault when it did – the husband rousing his wife for another round of matrimonial duty. It was his fault tonight, but not for that reason. She could hear his voice murmuring in the darkness, and for a moment, she thought maybe he was talking in his sleep. The Goblin King, doing anything so vulnerable? It would be a treasure not to be missed. But as her mind cleared from its sleepy haze, she noticed she could no longer feel the heat and pressure of him nestled at her side. No, instead she could feel his silky hair tickling her bare stomach, his long hands stroking along her hips and thighs.

“Don't mind your mother's fussing, son,” he was whispering in the quiet night. Oh dear God, he was _talking to the baby_. Sarah's heart just about stopped dead. “I know it seems like she does not want you, but do not take that personally. She went through a dangerous trial to keep you safe, against a terrible villain. Luckily, your strong, powerful father was there to right that...”

Sarah bit down on her lower lip to keep from laughing. Her body shook anyway, and he clearly noticed. “Don't forget 'handsome.'”

“Yes, handsome as well. The knave wanted to take you away from us, but Mummy braved his terrible castle to stop him, and strong, handsome Daddy tore his arms and legs off.”

“Jareth, the baby isn't developed enough to be able to hear your voice yet.” She paused, running her fingers over her tired eyes. “And don't tell him things like _that_.”

“If he cannot hear me, clearly it does not matter if I say it.”

Sarah shifted so she pulled herself into more of a seated position. Her husband moved right along with her, that his ear could remain at her still fairly flat stomach. “And as to all this 'he,' business, for all you know, it's a girl.”

“It is not.” The King shook his head. “I would not produce anything less than a future Goblin King.”

“Just for that,” her eyes narrowed and her nose wrinkled. “I am going to use my force of will to make _sure_ it's a girl, and I'll teach her to fight and use magic and kick ass just as well as any man.”

But Jareth actually laughed at that, at last picking his head off her abdomen so he could kiss his bride. “I know you would, too. And you would mother the most amazing Goblin Queen the Underground has ever seen, I have no doubt.”

It _had_ to be more baby hormones – because having Jareth's face so close to hers, his hands still trailing the outside of her hips...she felt _tortuously_ turned on. “Jareth.” The Queen licked her lips and let her delicate hands trail her husband's muscled shoulders.

“Hm?”

“Kiss me again.” He did so, little more than chaste, very tender. “No, _really_ kiss me.” The King raised an eyebrow, and kissed her a little more fiercely this time, his tongue teasing hers. Sarah's eyes were closed, her lips parted. “ _Again_.” He pressed her into the bed, fingers becoming entwined in her rich, dark hair as her arms held him fast about the shoulders. Her eyes slowly opened in the dark, emerald green, clouded with desire.

Above her, the Goblin King was smirking, still holding her in his arms. “That's all you get for free. I won't do a thing else until you _ask_ me to.”

The girl whimpered, her fingers digging into his arms. “You're horrible...”

“And strong, powerful, handsome...It's time you started having to use your words, precious thing.”

God, he was so vindictive...right now, it didn't matter, she _needed_ him. Her eyes shut, her lips parted, her uncovered bosom heaved with her unsteady breath. “ _I want you_...”

Jareth kissed her fit to die, like the fate of the world depended on the passion and sincerity of that one kiss – and Sarah returned it with equal fervor. It was some time before they disentangled enough to breathe again, to open eyes and think at all. “All I've ever wanted to hear, my Queen...” he murmured, before bending his mouth to hers once more, and the night went on.

 

* * *

 

 

Goblins cackled in the dark of the posh, Upper West Side apartment. “It work!”

“It work!”

“ _Ehehehehe_ !” Bugwit, Wog and Tweezledown danced in the dark of the spare bedroom, rollicking in their wickedness the way their ancestors had once pranced around Samhain fires when the lines between Under and Above were not so clear. Magic was made by strong vows and careful word choices. It would not bend to lying, but it _could_ be manipulated with a little thought. The goblin trio were vowed to return when their task was complete – they just happened to include finding the ultimate rattle in that quest. Linda Williams was Underground, it was true, the task their _King_ had set for them. But their own was just beginning. They might have forgotten entirely what it was they were to do, so immersed in their joy were they, but for the yowling of the cat at the door.

Each gasped, but their eyes lit with curiosity. “Wuz that?”

“It look like...cat.”

“Cat?”

Tweezeldown's yellow teeth were born in a brilliant, goblin smile as she crept closer to the feline defender. “Is gumpy cat?” Mr. Mittens had his grey back arched to better show off his fierce nature, his tail fluffed like a bottle brush. He was growling deep in his throat, but Tweezeldown's curiosity was too peaked for her to take this as a sign of danger. She reached out one claw to touch the creature, and the cat struck out with his paw, claws out, hissing all the while. With a shriek, the little she-goblin dove behind her companions. “Is not gumpy cat!”

Bugwit stepped forward, his little chest puffed. “I protect you, Tweezledown.” Wog glared miniature daggers at his back. He strode forward on his cloven feet, and the cat snarled at him like the jungle beast he felt himself to be. “You... _shoo_ !” Mr. Mittens was _not_ up to handling this big of a rat infestation, and he tore out of the side bedroom like a shot, knocking over a lamp in the process.

“What in the... _Linda! The bloody cat is out of his head!_ ”

Wog tilted his head in curiosity. “That man voice?”

“Oooh...What we do?”

“Find rattle. Focus!” Bugwit clapped his hands, and the other two stood straight with a strong nod.

“Linda? Where in blazes are you?”

 

* * *

 

 

A dream...a strange, perhaps alcohol induced dream, that's what it was...Sarah. Her mind was missing Sarah, had cast back to childhood memories to think of that book. Linda had always encouraged Sarah's love of fantasy, of pretend. It was the thing they most shared, aside from looks and temper. Sarah had always devoured fairy tales, but the story of a princess who defied a wicked king, that one had always been near and dear to her heart. Linda remembered playing all the parts, and how wide Sarah's little green eyes would become as they reached the dramatic conclusion. “ _Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, I have fought my way here, to the Castle beyond the Goblin City_...”

Mmm, the bed felt extra comfortable this morning. Just five more minutes of beauty sleep, just enough to keep circles from forming under her eyes, and then she would awak- “ _Good morning_ !” Linda jolted with a start, green eyes wide, body stiff. Oh God. The canopy, the bed – this _wasn't_ her apartment. She turned her stiff neck, and saw a girl drawing back lavish curtains to let a strange, orange sunshine into the room. “Did you sleep well, Mom?”

“S...arah?”

“I didn't wake you up, did I? Oh!” Sarah's hand covered her mouth. Holy mother, it was another stunning gown, something she'd have seen the costume department put together for a lavish scene: rich red, strapless, silver patterns sewn into the bodice. She looked like a _queen_ – _her Sarah_ looked like a _queen_. What kind of sick joke was this? “I'm sorry, Mom! I thought you were already up!”

“It's...fine...” The edges of Linda's mind still pounded a little, but she tried to shake it off and sit up. “Sarah...why am I here? What's going on?”

The girl blushed, that shy way she'd taken up since her parents had divorced. “It's...kind of a long story...”

“Clearly, I have time.”

“Well...” The girl took a seat on the end of the lavish bed, smoothing her skirt under her ringed hands. A story about a stormy night and a crying baby (“Toby? Your half-brother?”) and a reckless wish. She skipped most of the details, only barely covering her trip through the Labyrinth and her ultimate success, but lingering on what that meant for her. “The Labyrinth responds to power...I'm the only one who ever beat it, so it picked me.”

“The... _maze_ picked you?”

Sarah's smile was weak, it did not even reach her eyes. “Sounds pretty crazy, huh?”

“Frankly, yes. I'm still not convinced I'm not in a psych ward somewhere.”

“Mom.” Sarah grabbed her mother's upper arms with an urgent grip, her green eyes pleading for understanding. “You're not crazy, it's _real_ , Mom.” With a sudden gasp, like a sob, the girl threw her arms around her mother and squeezed for her life. “I missed you so much...”

“I missed you, too, sweetness...but I still don't understand.” Sarah drew away again, laying her hands in her lap and looking down at them in careful study before murmuring something. “What was that?”

“I'm _pregnant_ ,” she repeated, a little louder this time.

Linda's jaw dropped open. Sarah couldn't meet her gaze. “... _Sarah_! You're eighteen!”

“I-I know.”

“I _told_ you I'd get you birth control whenever you wanted it!”

Sarah rolled her eyes, a bit of sarcasm she'd picked up from her lord and husband. “Couldn't really ask you for any...and _believe me_ , Jareth would _not_ be okay with a rubber.”

“Sweetheart.” Linda took her daughter's chin between her slender fingers, tilting her face up to meet her searching gaze. “Is this what you wanted?”

The girl bit gently at her lower lip, eyelashes fluttering with the effort it took her to hold back a fresh bout of tears. Slowly, she shook her head. “N-no.”

“Is he hurting you? If your father were here, he'd-”

“He's not,” Sarah murmured, laying her hand on her mother's wrist so that she released her chin. “Jareth is a bastard in _many_ ways, but credit where it's due, I guess...” With a shaky sigh, Sarah straightened with a smile. “H-he thought I could use some help, um...I've not been... _nice_ since I got knocked up...”

Linda snorted, a smirk touching her own, red lips. “Your father went on a fishing trip every month for the last two trimesters to get away from me.”

Sarah giggled a bit. “R-really?”

“They deserve a little hell for what they put us through.”

The girl laughed harder and stood from the bed, aglow with her new happiness. “I know it seems weird, but it's going to be wonderful, Mom, I promise! I brought all these dresses in for you to try, and jewelry, and I can put your hair up like I used to, a-and-” Sarah had to turn away from her, the emotion overwhelming her. Linda sighed a little. She was probably in the middle of a psychotic break, but she might as well go along with it.

The Goblin Queen gave her mother a grand tour, anything and everything there was to see. They took the morning meal in the echoing dining hall, and the Goblin King stayed out of their way. Sarah showed her the Throne Room, still free as it was from goblin mess this morning, and took her to the winding stairs of the Escher Room. Linda had to close her eyes against the nausea it induced, but Sarah merely laughed and ran up and down and under and across the many stairs in impossible geometry. She offered to take her through the Goblin City, but Linda thought one look at its dirt and chaos was quite enough. Any hurt the girl felt, she refused to show. Instead, the tour continued through the ballroom, designed like the inside of one of Jareth's crystal balls. She thought about showing her the Labyrinth, but decided that would serve more to frighten her mother than anything else.

Instead, she had a lovely picnic lunch served for the pair in the King's garden, surrounded by roses and orchids and flowers that were nothing like anything Linda had ever seen on earth. And strange trees, some almost familiar, but bearing unreal fruit. “Sarah...is that a... _banana_ tree?”

Sarah giggled as she served up a slice of cake, covered in whipped cream, as light as air and delectably sweet. “Yeah. That was a...present.”

“...they're blue.”

“Only sometimes. Here, Mom, have some cake.”

“Sarah...it's all very magical and all that, but this is...ludicrous.”

The girl hesitated over the chalice of iced tea in her hand, her mother's favorite. “W-what do you mean?”

“I mean... _why_ you? You're just a girl.”

“I know that.”

“Does this...King love you?”

Sarah put the cup down. It was a question she'd asked herself a thousand times. “Jareth's love isn't selfless, it may not even be good. But in so far as he can, he does love me.”

“ _Why_ ?” Linda was insisting, peering into her daughter's face. “You barely even dated in high school. _Why_ would you be abducted by some...fairytale man that's absolutely besotted with you?”

The conversation was not a private one; the King's garden could be accessed from many doors, but one of them was his personal study, and he'd been watching the picture that his wife and mother-in-law presented from its doorway since the luncheon began. Nogtwit sat at his booted feet, a lonely little scamp without his friends, and daring not to approach his Queen as he otherwise might.

The Goblin King sighed, leaning against the door frame, irritation clear upon his features. “For a woman who makes her living in clear expression, she certainly knows how to put her foot in her mouth.” Nogtwit looked up at his sovereign at this remark, and, curiously, began trying to fit his own foot into his mouth. Jareth simply ignored him and strode easily up to the unseeing pair.

“You're just a girl, you didn't even graduate high school. You would never be a beauty queen. I don't understand what's so special that he-”

“Truly, you do not?” Sarah jumped in her seat at her husband's voice, and Jareth settled himself beside her on the picnic blanket. “Might I join you, precious?” Mutely, she nodded, and Jareth carefully took his wife's hand in his, stroking it with his gloved thumb. “I am surprised at you, Ms. Williams. It seems to me that, if anyone, a girl's own mother should be well aware of her charms.” Linda just stared at him, green eyes slightly narrowed. “You may think that there are prettier girls, but to my mind, there is only Sarah.”

He brought her hand to his lips, and Sarah wiggled. “Jareth, don't do this...”

“And even if there were, it does not matter to me. Do you mean to say you never saw her courage in adversity? Her wit and verve and determination?”

“Determination?” Linda laughed a little, picking up her glass of iced tea. “Her dad and I argued with her often enough from her stubbornness, if that's what you mean.”

“Virtues can also be vices, yes.” He plucked a strawberry from a plate and chewed it with clear thought, smirking all the while at Linda. “Tell me, madam, you kept your married name? Do you regret _abandoning_ your family, then?”

“ _Jareth_.”

Linda just flicked her dark hair over her shoulder. He thought he could get to her that way? Please, she'd been around chorus girls, Linda _knew_ catty. “I was already becoming well known by that name. It's brand recognition, not sentiment.” She didn't seem to notice the hot blush on her daughter's cheeks.

“That's another wonderful thing about Sarah – she told you about her first time in the Labyrinth, yes? No reason to want the child back at all, but her sense of _honor_ would not allow her to abandon him, when before she didn't even like him.”

“ _Please_.” The girl squeezed his hand as it still held hers, looking at him with begging, wet eyes. Jareth scowled darkly. “Please, don't do this.”

“Do _what_.”

“I-I want everything to be happy. _Please_.”

The King's scowl did not depart, but he stood, bowing to each woman in turn. “The duties of a Kingdom call. If you will excuse me, _ladies_...” He left, but Nogtwit scampered up in his place, curious about the food; his foot was wet with slobber.

Linda snorted, watching Jareth's back as he departed. “Rich, isn't he?”

“H-he's a little abrasive.”

The mother had opened her mouth to say something else, but nearly threw her glass at the sudden... _creature_ on their blanket. “ _Sarah_!”

“What? Oh!” She smiled broadly and pulled that horrible thing into her arms. “Nogtwit!”

“Majesty,” he cooed, snuggling into her bosom.

“Sarah, drop that, it probably has fleas!”

“Nogtwit no has fleas!”

“It's just a goblin, Mom. He's harmless.”

“Harmless! He's.... _hideous_!”

Sarah's face fell, her arms around the creature going a little slack. “You don't like them? I think they're kind of cute.”

Linda stared from the beast in her arms, with its curly horns and the spittle at its mouth, and then back to her daughter. “ _That_ is cute?”

Sarah hesitated a moment, but she put the goblin down anyway. “Nogtwit, go play in the rumpus room.”

“Queen...”

“I'm sure Bugwit and Wog are looking for you, go on.” Nogtwit went, but he wasn't happy about it. Things had to be in a pretty bad way for the _Queen_ not to notice his erstwhile companions were nowhere to be seen.

 

* * *

 

 

“ _Holy hell_! Mittens! Rats, get 'em, boy!” The cat was not about to obey that order – as if it would obey any order – and the goblins found themselves dodging flying missiles as they dove for an open window, leading to the fire escape.

“That almost as bad as when King kicks!” Tweezledown squeaked, smoothing herself over and making sure every bump was in its place.

Wog put his spindly arm around her shoulder and drew the she-goblin close. “I protect you, Tweezledown.”

Bugwit glared at him. “Wog. You find rattle?”

The little goblin bristled. “ _You_?”

“We must find!” Tweezledown whined, and quickly climbed along the brownstone in search of another open window. Goblins, it must be noted, are excellent climbers; it is how they are able to attach themselves to the barest of crannies, and it was only with the slightest of shimmies that Tweezledown skittered up the wall of the building and through the next open window. The boys quickly followed suit, and Bugwit whistled in the dark.

“What this?”

“Cold floor...”

Wog sniffed it, licked it, but he couldn't figure it out, and that was generally the limit of his fact finding abilities. Bugwit had begun opening small doors, as if fitted for them, and Tweezledown was examining a tall, cool rectangle. “Dark in doors!” Bugwit called, knocking his head on a low shelf.

“Can't...open...” Tweezledown was grunting as she pulled at the strange, smooth box, and Wog could not budge it either; they were pulling on the wrong side of a refrigerator door.

“Hey, Tweezledown! Look this!” Both goblins turned back to Bugwit, who had hefted a large soup pot over his head and was doing curls with it. “Cool, yes?”

Wog growled and scampered from the mysterious kitchen. “You be silly, _I_ find rattle.”

Bugwit growled, tossing the pot aside and giving chase. “No, _I_ find!”

“Me!”

“ _Me_!”

Tweelzedown rolled her eyes at their posturing and nudged open a nearby door. This room was even darker, with metal shelves lining every wall and strange boxes on the shelves. The poor girl bumped her nose along a black suitcase, and she rubbed it as she examined the yellow stripe across it, lettering in black blocks standing out from it: “Dr. Henry's Happy Herpetology Hour.” As Tweezledown could not read, this did little to enlighten her, and so she stumbled along through the dark, peering at each box. They were cool against her nose, she noticed, and vaguely opaque. Not knowing much about glass, they reminded her of the King's crystals, and she had started to vaguely wonder if crystals tied together might make a rattle when she tripped and knocked right into a box.

“ _Eeeek_!”

The boys stopped their bickering immediately, ears tilted at the sound of Tweezledown's little scream, and tore off in her direction, nearly tripping over each other in their eagerness. The little she-goblin was pointing a long claw at one strange box on a shelf, where a snake could be seen lifting its head, eyes glowing in the darkness. “Look!” she shouted, and look the boys did – what was better, they _listened_ . For the serpent had the end of his tail raised, shaking the tip back and forth in rapid time, creating a _rattling_ sound.

“ _Oooooohhh_....”

 

* * *

 

 

“Everything has to be _perfect_.”

“Yes, Majesty.”

“I want caviar for the starter, and then the salad with the truffles.” Nogtwit was watching as his Queen spoke with the kitchen staff, the smart goblins. It was, of course, her right to plan the menu any time she pleased, but even for the Midsummer Ball, Sarah had stayed out of the way. She wasn't a student of haute cuisine, she would rather leave that to the professionals. Not this time. The girl was carefully checking items off her fingers, eyes blazing. “The main course is to be roasted duck, and for dessert, vanilla bean crème brulee.”

“And wine, Your Majesty?”

“Yes, wine...champagne with the caviar, and that white pinot noir with the salad a-and...” She almost wanted to ask Jareth, she wasn't very good with wines. But no, she could do it herself, she _had_ to. Knowing him, he'd recommend frozen pizza and powdered Tang, such was his dislike of the current situation. Sarah was desperate to make her mother see all that she could give her. “That...côte du Rhone for the duck. And I want the best madeira and ports for dessert, and His Majesty will want brandy, a-and...” Sarah sighed, shoulders slumping a little. “I guess that's it. Oh! Make sure the linens are blue!” Goblins everywhere nodded and took off to do their Queen's bidding, and Sarah just rubbed at her arms absentmindedly. “Cause blue's her favorite color, you know....”

Sarah was not blind. It was true that, in her desperation, she wished only to see her mother's happiness, but Linda's dislike of the Underground was very obvious to her daughter. She couldn't exactly blame her. It was true, also, that Sarah deeply loved and reveled in its magic and its mystery, however violent her transition there was; the way she'd always loved fantasy and prayed for it to be real. But she understood that to someone else, it could seem frightening and horrible. Sarah wanted just so badly to make her mother happy and proud. She was a Queen, after all; this was her chance to prove it, to show her worth at last.

Jareth could hardly believe the trouble the girl was going to. Boltsneeze told him the wine list as he handed him his daily papers; Sarah wasn't even drinking with the baby, a new human custom as far as he was aware, but if she said it was healthier, that was good enough for him. The girl even rejected caffeine on the wisdom that Karen had been told to stay away from it when pregnant with Toby. So all this maddening effort spent on a woman he knew would not appreciate it – what had gotten into the girl's head? Well, if nothing else, it explained where that _ungrateful_ streak came from... Still and all, Jareth's goals in bringing Linda down to the Underground had been met: he had not had one screaming match with Sarah since she'd been here, and even if the girl was distressed, she was still smiling. But it was a sad kind of smile, one that didn't reach those lovely green eyes of hers...

Damn. He wanted to be satisfied, but he wasn't.

He was sure he'd given Sarah something that she wanted, but then why were neither of them happy? Oh, Linda was full of useful advice on carrying a child, just as the healer said she might be: butters and creams to use to prevent stretch marks; different things to eat for health and to combat the myriad of side effects a baby caused; folksy wisdom learned from grandmothers and grandmothers' grandmothers. And yet, the Goblin King was coming to the very _frustrating_ realization that it could be that what Sarah wanted from her mother was not in his power to bestow, however strong and almighty he may be. And this made him _irritated_.

If there was one thing he could comply with, however, it was Sarah's desire that he look his absolute best for her dinner. He even had the pleasure of having the girl on hand as he dressed. “What about your blue coat?”

He raised a thin brow at her, pinning his satin cravat at the line of his throat with a large, silver filigree pin. “Do you mean the one I wore when I _danced_ with you, Sarah.”

The girl blushed from her seat on the end of their bed, turning her face away. “It brings out the blue in your eye.”

“My, is that a _compliment_ I hear? From my _wife_?”

“Please,” and she was looking up at him with those jewel eyes of hers, that delicious little pout on her soft lips. “Don't you want Mom to be impressed with you? I can't imagine you like anyone thinking you're not all that and a bag of chips.”

He ignored this last cryptic comment of hers and instead tucked his still bare fingers beneath her chin, tilting her face back toward him. Sarah even kept her eyes open as he used the other hand to stroke the roundness of her cheek. Such a pretty little thing... “Do you mean to tell me you want your mother to feel you've made a good match?”

The girl's mouth pursed, Sarah was not about to melt; her mind was too preoccupied. “I mean to tell you to please wear that blue coat. _Please_.”

The King sighed, turning away from his wife. “I suppose I must be satisfied with that answer. Usually you only say please when you _don't_ want me to do something. 'Please, Jareth, don't take me to the Underground and make me a glittering Queen just like I always dreamed,' or 'Please, Jareth, don't caress me to the point of ecstasy-'”

Sarah stood, a small glare in her green eyes. “You have a lot of nerve, you know that?”

“I have a lot of _everything_ , precious thing,” he grinned at her, shrugging on the glittering blue jacket. “And everything I have, I give to you. I wonder, will you _ever_ say thank you?” The girl stormed to her boudoir to begin her own dressing, and while she'd adopted the high style befitting her station, she still always managed to take less time than her husband did.

The dinner went off without a hitch; for once, the goblins were afraid of what their _Queen_ might do should things not go to her liking, as opposed to their King. Linda certainly seemed impressed. Her eyes closed with the pleasure of the cuisine quite often, she praised the wines and the hundreds of glittering candles that lit the massive dining hall. Sarah was practically on the edge of her seat, barely able to eat despite her new-found ravenous hunger, mainly sipping the fruit juices the staff poured for her and hanging on her mother's every compliment. The King looked considerably less pleased, and his strange, cold eyes flicked from one woman to another throughout the meal.

It was perhaps lucky that Sarah was not drinking; for if she had been, her nervous flutterings of joy would have been a sure sign she'd imbibed too much. The girl was hopeful, watching her mother's intense satisfaction. She twisted her napkin between her fingers in anticipation of happiness, and began blurting out whatever came into her head. “Isn't it great, Mom? We can do things like this forever!”

Linda choked slightly on her small glass of port. “Forever?”

Sarah nodded enthusiastically, biting at her lower lip. Jareth raised a brow and looked from one woman to another. Here was the moment of truth he'd been anticipating for some time now... “Yes! I'll make sure every night is as fun as this for you, and I'll get you all kinds of pretty clothes and jewels and everything you ever wanted!”

“Sarah,” the middle aged woman laughed awkwardly. “Honey. I'm touched by your generosity, really, I am. But...I can't _stay_ here.”

The girl blinked wide, green eyes. “Why not?”

What to say to _that_? That the entire world was insane? That it was a nightmare? “Well...what about Jeremy!”

“We'll bring him, too!” Sarah promised, enthusiasm overflowing. “Won't we, Jareth?” The King said nothing. “Anything you want, just like I promised!”

“Sarah, _no_.”

Something flashed in the daughter's eyes. Linda's hands were pressed against the mahogany tabletop, like she was ready to push away from the table. “But you just said...”

“Sweetie, I _can't_ stay here. I need to go home.”

“You can't!” Sarah had bolted up from her seat, and the other two at the table did so reflexively. “Mom, you can't leave me alone again!”

“Sarah, try to understand. This is what's best for me.”

“ _You always say that_ !” It was the scene she replayed in her mind all over again: to Sarah's mind, her mother was not standing here in her grand dining hall, oh no. She was at the front door with her suitcase in her hand, asking her child to please let her go, assuring her this was what was best. It could not be borne. “I-I don't want to be alone anymore.” Beside her, her husband twitched obviously. “Mom, Mommy, don't go, d-don't, not this time.” Tears were springing into her eyes, her throat was constricted, and she moved to embrace her mother with open, desperate arms. “ _Please_.”

As soon as the girl stepped forward, Linda stepped back, half in horror. “This can't be real...Sarah, you have to understand. I-I wish I was home right now.”

“ _No_ !” Linda Williams had every reason to be afraid now, for the flash and fire in her daughter's eyes was very clear: she had not simply disappointed her child, but she had upset the Goblin Queen, and this was not something to be done lightly. Jareth might have even been pleased by the radiating sense of power coming off his wife – were the situation not so heartbreaking. “ _I won't let you, not this time_!”

However, the laws of the Underground could not be stopped, even by one of its Queens, and the Right Words had been spoken this time; Linda felt herself out of breath as a kind of white cloud began to coalesce around her. Sarah, of a sudden, was ten years old all over again, trying desperately to keep her mother from leaving her. She lunged forward, but Jareth caught her in his arms before she could go much further. Aside from his wife's distress, he almost felt relieved at his mother-in-law's exit. “It's time to say goodbye, Sarah,” he pressed his mouth to her ear.

“ _No!_ No, no, _Mommy_ -!”

Linda was blinking out of their gaze. The Queen shook violently, on the brink of her own kind of breakdown. To have finally been able to see her family again – no, worse than that, to finally have her _mother_ all to herself – and to be abandoned all over again? She was too vulnerable as it was, but even at her strongest, that was not something Sarah could take.

But the King's arms encircled her tightly, held her close to his body so she could not fall apart or fall away. Sarah could feel the cool lips of her husband pressed against her temple. “ _There's such a sad love, deep in your eyes_ ...” His smooth voice, he was _singing_ to her. Tears rolled down Sarah's cheeks, her hands flew to where he supported her with an arm around her stomach while she trembled violently. She was absolutely sobbing, going limp against his arms. She was gone, her mother was gone all over again. She had needed her so much; Linda knew how hard it had been for her, suddenly the Goblin Queen, soon to be a mother – and she had left anyway. Sarah felt like her whole world was falling around her, brick by brick. Was this how Jareth had felt when she told him he had no power over her? Maybe it didn't matter now. She turned in his arms so her face could be nestled against his neck and she cried her heart out. She felt the familiar, nauseous sensation of the world shifting under her feet, and before she knew it, she was no longer standing in the familiar dining hall. In fact, she was no longer standing at all. Instead, Jareth lay on his back on their bed, torso propped against several pillows, with Sarah sprawled over his chest, still crying. But the King was singing to her still, and his voice was so soothing where it rumbled in his chest...Before she could understand what was happening, she felt her sobs slowing, her breath occasionally hitched with a hiccup. How dare he be what she needed when he had been the cause of all this? The poor girl didn't have the energy to be mad, though...

“Jareth...” She had a hard time speaking, her breath coming in unsteady, shaking gasps, like a child.

“Shhh...” His thin fingers combed through the thick tangle of her hair, pausing to run down the nubby length of her spine. “Hush now, precious thing...”

“I-I-I-”

His arms tightened around her just a little, his bony cheek resting against the crown of her head. “Your mother is undeserving of you, my dear...Please, try to understand that.”

“I-I didn't mean...” She rubbed at her face with the back of her hand and found her fingers smeared with the remnants of her eye makeup when she did. Lord, she must look a mess... “What I said about being alone. It's just that – my family – and my life – I miss them, I-”

“Shh...” He kissed her on the round point of her nose. “I know already.”

He had turned the whole world upside down, it was all _his fault –_ but here he was catching her. It was terrible, it was villainous, it was monstrous; to ruin her life and then make her need him. What would it mean if she was giving up, if she was accepting life as his wife? What would it mean if she loved the man who had destroyed everything? Would it mean she was sick? Or strong enough to forge a life out of a ruin? Sarah didn't know. Jareth was petting her hair.

There was almost a companionable silence after that, Sarah drifting into a half-sleep as his voice still hummed at her ear where it pressed against his sternum. So warm and solid and strong... “This was not a marriage of choice, I realize – but I would choose no other but you to be my wife, to bear my child. Perhaps the comfort is cold, but I hope one day you can accept that.”

She stiffened slightly in his arms – but relaxed again. She needed anything she could get, at that moment. Linda didn't want her – but someone did. Someone terrible, but someone _all_ hers. It was almost nice, in a sick sort of way. Sarah's thin arms wrapped around her husband's chest and she nestled against him with a slight nuzzling of her cheek on his pectoral.

 

* * *

 

 

“ _C is for Cookie, that's good enough for me_...” Toby was giggling like mad at the antics of a fuzzy blue monster on the television screen when the phone rang.

Robert and Karen exchanged the briefest of knowing glances before the former rose with a grunt from his position on the sofa. “I'll get it,” he assured her, while Toby never paid them a second's notice. With quiet footfalls, Robert Williams walked into the hallway adjacent to the family room and picked the phone up from its spot on the wall. “Hello? Linda? What in the- _slow down_ .” Karen's head pivoted slightly on her neck, straining to look behind her and hear what her husband was saying in the hall. “You've seen Sarah? Where!...In the- _what_ ? Linda – have you been drinking? Because you sound _crazy_ , that's why.”

“Oh no...” Karen's hand went to her painted lips, she glanced down at her child. Toby hadn't seemed to have taken any notice just yet.

“I can't believe you...Sarah is my _daughter_ , you know, do you understand how much I am _hurting_ since she disappeared?” She could almost hear her husband's teeth grinding. “Is she your daughter, Linda? Really, Linda?..I don't know, maybe because you didn't come to her sixteenth birthday party!...Because it made her _cry_ , _that's_ why I'm still holding on to that!”

Karen turned her head back with a sigh on her lips and nearly jumped to see Toby looking straight up at her, Cookie Monster now forgotten. “Is Daddy fighting with Sarah's mommy?”

The woman chewed the inside of her cheek. “Sounds like it...”

Toby pulled himself from off the floor, onto the couch with his mother; he didn't look particularly sad, but he did seem contemplative. “Is Sarah ever coming home?”

Karen didn't hold out for hope the way her husband did; she was a worldly woman, she understood the reality of what happened to most beautiful young girls who were suddenly missing, even if it wasn't something she wanted to acknowledge. Karen had always been good about facing the truth. However, she couldn't say that to a _baby_. “I don't know,” she answered as honestly as she could.

The child cuddled into his mother's breast the comfortable way that children do. “I miss her.”

Karen had to bite hard against her lips to fight off her tears. “Oh, honey...oh, I do, too...”

“ _No, Linda, I don't want to hear it_ !” The phone call had devolved into a shouting match; Karen was hardly surprised. “ _And don't call here again, until you're sober – or ever!_ ” There was a slam as the phone went back to its receiver, and Mrs. Williams jumped slightly. Her husband stalked back into the room, sat back down on the sofa, and said nothing. A tense silence pervaded the air. After a moment, Robert turned the volume on the TV up, so that muppets were fairly yelling across to one another; the man gave a discontented sigh. “...who wants milk and cookies, huh?” Toby bashfully raised his hand. Karen tried to smile, but her mouth was trembling too much.

 

* * *

 

 

“Majesty! Majesty!” Their cries echoed down the long stone corridor that led to the royal chambers. Three little sets of feet, some with paws and some with hooves, pounded down the flagstones and slid to an unsteady halt before the master suite door. It was unwise, but the three little goblins did not even hesitate in throwing open the bedroom door.

It was lucky for them that the King was trapped beneath the body of his wife, for he might otherwise have risen from the bed to kick them at the very least, or throw them into the Bog of Eternal Stench – or, conceivably, worse. As it was, he snarled at them with cold fury instead, hissing, “ _Idiots_. She'd just fallen asleep!”

“Mmm...” Sarah stirred in her husband's arms, picking up her tear stained head. “N-no, I'm awake, I'm awake...”

Bugwit, Wog and Tweezledown felt the briefest of pangs for having woken their Queen, but quickly pressed forward anyway. “We won game!”

“Game?” Sarah blinked confused, sleepy eyes. She certainly didn't remember any games. But then, Sarah noted, she hadn't seen the three of them since her mother had arrived, and she also realized she hadn't even cared. Dear God, maybe it wasn't Jareth who was horrible, but Linda, if this was how she changed the normally thoughtful girl? This was too much to think about at once, Sarah tried to focus on the goblins.

“For rattle!”

“For _ultimate_ rattle.”

“Here.” Bugwit puffed out his chest and held out a very strange device: it was a long rod of perfectly molded silver, the bottom of which matched the shape of the Goblin King's pendant, the goblin horns. And atop it was...Sarah squeaked.

“I-Is that a... _rattlesnake tail?_ ”

“ _Well_ now,” the King hummed with appreciation. “You stupid little beasts – that's actually quite clever.” The three little goblins gasped in their surprise. “Listen to this, dear.” He shook the royal rattle, and it certainly gave a rattling sound as its tip moved back and forth in rapid motion. Sarah squeaked again, her grip around him tightening, and he chuckled slightly in his throat. “It won't hurt, precious, it's just the tail.”

“Y-yeah, I know...”

“...you fools somehow actually made the ultimate rattle for a Goblin Prince.” The trio just about fainted dead away – praise from their King? That was almost better than the prize of the royal hair pin. Almost

Even Sarah managed the smallest of smiles, carefully taking the object from her husband's thin hands. “It...it is, isn't it?” A Goblin Prince's rattle...a symbol of ruthlessness and power, even in one so small...she may have been Underground too long, because it was becoming an enjoyable prospect to her. Unconsciously, Sarah's hand trailed along her stomach, but Jareth watched the movement very closely. “...good job, you guys, you won.”

“We can have prize now?”

“Yes, prize?”

“Oh, that's right...” Sarah muttered. “It was...a hair pin, right?” She looked at the three sets of glowing, orbicular eyes as they gazed at her with anxious hope and managed a small smile. “Well...since it's _such_ a good rattle, I guess you could each have a pin.” They'd begun a joyous cackle at that, but Sarah quickly shushed them, not in a mood to handle any kind of chaotic noise at the moment. However, it was her husband who gently pulled the pins from her curls, so that he could see the mass of brown silk fall completely loose at her shoulders, and Sarah could feel his eyes on her skin. It made her shiver, but not with horror this time. “Here you go...” she whispered as she handed them over with a small smile on her red lips. “And...I think Nogtwit has been missing you.” With a quick bow, the three amigos scurried out of the bedchamber, nearly tripping over each other in their joy.

Sarah had been about to roll off her husband's abdomen when her red rimmed eyes took on a desperate light. She tried to sit up, but Jareth held her too tightly. “Wait. The thing I wanted to tell you, before, in the Throne Room-”

“What thing?”

There was no time to be bashful; she was already broken apart, more pain could hardly hurt now. “I want you to start respecting what I have to say!”

The King just blinked, confused by her sudden topic change. “I beg your pardon?”

“You don't listen to me, when there's something I want or don't want. You always just...” Sarah's voice hitched in her throat again, but she pressed through it. “If I say no and you say yes, you don't care what my answer was. I want you to care, Jareth.” A pause. “I _need_ you to care.”

The Goblin King continued to stare at the girl; had her mother driven her totally out of her mind? “I...see.”

For her part, Sarah wrinkled her nose, still red with the blush of her tears. “Do you?”

He hissed a little, drawing his arms tighter about her. “I am trying...” After a moment of frowning thought, he said, “...you wish equality with me, for our wants to be weighed equally.”

Sarah could hardly breathe; dear God, he actually got it. “Y-yes....”

“You never do ask for anything easy, do you. Not jewels, not clothes, no, you're not satisfied until I pull the stars from out of the heavens.” He pressed on before she could interrupt, her lips already parted. “But that is the nature of my Sarah. You are _maddeningly frustrating_ , child.” The King ground his teeth. “I will... _attempt_ to keep this request in mind.” It wasn't exactly the admission Sarah had been looking for – but from _her_ husband, it was quite a lot, and she really smiled for the first time in what seemed like an age. It was enough to melt the Goblin King – but only slightly. Internally. For his part, Jareth kept his eyes focused on his wife for a few quiet moments in the dark. At last, he broke the silence: “What is on your mind, Sarah?”

The girl sighed, rolling off him and letting her head fall back onto a silk swathed pillow. “...that my old life is gone forever.”

“It is,” Jareth nodded, turning on to his side so that he loomed over her, locks of his pale hair tickling her skin. Sarah brushed them away with an almost tender gesture.

“And...and knowing that, I-I...I want to be a _real_ Goblin Queen. I don't want anyone to make me feel the way Mom has, ever again.” She closed her eyes with a slight spasm of the lids, seeming to briefly be in pain before they opened again; this time, with fierce determination. “I won't be that weak anymore.

Jareth could feel the radiant pleasure of success roaring through his veins as he pulled the girl, his wife – his _Queen –_ into the tight circle of his embrace. “Oh, _Sarah_...” His voice was husky, like a desperate prayer. It made Sarah shiver with a very instinctual kind of pleasure. “You will be a true Goblin Queen – and you are...”

Most of the goblins were curled up in small mountains of sleeping companions at this point in the night, but they were awoken quite loudly by Nogtwit's squeals of glee. The poor little creature climbed over his slumbering brethren, never minding when his feet landed right in the middle of squishy faces, and nearly tackled Bugwit and Wog. “You back!”

“Oof!”

“Get off, stupid!”

Nogtwit didn't care, he cuddled his friends with the desperate love of companionship. Tweezledown actually gave a pleased sigh of joy at the scene. It awoke the two more “macho” of the goblins, however, and both Bugwit and Wog prized poor Nogtwit off of them, ready to snarl and posture. “I one who cut off snake tail!”

“Was me who killed it!”

Nogtwit began to keen again. Tweezledown's yellow teeth showed in a frown. “Boys.”

“My idea!”

“No, _mine_!”

“Boys!” she shouted, and there was some grumbling from different sleeping piles about beauty sleep being a requirement for any little, dumb goblin. When both pairs of eyes were on her, she simply opened up her arms and smiled. “I like both you!” And she wrapped one arm around each scrawny neck. It did _not_ solve the issue, so far as the boys were concerned, and they fixed each other with a cold look – until Nogtwit promptly joined in on the group hug, and they seemed to collectively decide, well. Perhaps they'd both helped in finding the perfect rattle, and that might be enough.

For the present.

 


	4. You Can Go Home, but You Can Never Go Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I searched high and low for a proper name for the baby and Mztlynne and I were thrilled with “Bronwen,” and its meaning. Then I sat down to write this and realized it's apparently a girl's name. It was Mztlynne's opinion that it really didn't matter, so I'm going with it. If it just ruins the immersion for you....I dunno, write me, or something, and I'll apologize profusely.
> 
> Part 2: A secondary note from Mztlynne: “I like that until 'apologize profusely.' I'd tell them how much I don't care.” Add a finger snap, and you just got told, son. So you can still write me, but I may or may not apologize profusely.
> 
> In European tradition, turnips and rutabagas were used for Jack-o-lanterns, not pumpkins, so there's a little fun fact for the day for you guys.
> 
> The Aunties were inspired by women of a similar position in the opening of Karen Essex's bio-novel, “Kleopatra,” (which remains one of my favorites, and she actually graduated from the grad school I'm attending, so super bonus to me).
> 
> Childbirth is totally gross, guys. DON'T Google it for reference in your stories unless you absolutely have to, believe you me (I tip my hat to all you mothers out there, props to you and then some).

They named the child Bronwen, which, in the old tongue, means, “Darkness and purity.” It seemed fitting, given his parentage. The goblins had never had a Prince before, and the excitement of the event was almost more than could be borne. A solid week of celebration took place in the Goblin City; the goblin ale flowed more liberally than at any time in their past, it took days for the haze to clear, and the damage to the City when the raucous partying was at last concluded was almost as much as what the Queen had done when she'd first been to the City all those years ago.

            But who cared that their sovereign Queen had visited a rock caller upon the City in the past? It was all worth it to have a little Goblin Prince! Indeed, the wiser goblins of the library didn't even bother correcting the false notions that ran rampant through the halls: namely that, yes, there had been Goblin Princes in the past – but so long ago, it just wasn't worth bringing up. Prince Bronwen was a treasure.

            Certainly his mother thought so; despite a difficult term for one so young and rather thin, she doted on her boy. Where before she had been prone to bouts of sadness that broke the hearts of her subjects, now her every waking moment was consumed with the child. If he was not with her as she performed her various tasks throughout the Castle, she almost assuredly was with him in the nursery. Many mothers have difficulty adjusting to life with a newborn: the Queen simply adored her child. She had the advantage, these four months, of having magic to assist with the more difficult tasks in child-rearing, but she bore what difficulties she was subjected to with remarkable patience. Certainly it was of a help to her that she had been required to assist in the care of her little brother in the Aboveground, but her husband was shockingly supportive. Like his wife, if he was not busy tending to his Kingdom, he was with his family in a strange, unfamiliar fog of happiness.

            Unlike many royal families Under or Above, the child was even brought to court hours, provided he was up for the noise and frenetic energy of the place; the goblins came to expect him, and even decried his absence. And when he _was_ there...

            Wog was making faces at his future sovereign, pulling on his floppy, goblin lips and wiggling his long ears. At four months, Bronwen was just learning to smile and laugh, and this was to the great delight of his subjects, who never tired in capering before him. The royal babe was sat on his mother's lap, held up with her delicate hands, and his kingly father leaned lazily against his throne and smiled down at the boy.

            “ _Flaaaagh_!” noised Wog in perfectly goblinish nonsense speak.

            “ _Bluuuur_ ,” agreed Nogtwit as he bent backwards so that his head fit between his legs.

            Bronwen laughed with uproarious, chubby-cheeked giggles and smacked Wog right between the eyes with his snake-tailed rattle. His father gave a warm, soft smile, smoothing a gloved hand along the infant's soft, wispy blond locks. “There's a good boy, Bronwen...good practice until your legs are up for kicking.”

            The Queen Sarah disagreed, holding her son's tiny, chubby hand in her own. “Bron, we don't hit. It's not nice.”

            “Nonsense, Sarah. They're his goblins to hit.”

            “Jareth-” The disagreement was stopped by rowdy goblins bringing in yet another wheelbarrow full of turnips into the Throne Room and dumping the root vegetables in the central pit of the hall. It was with excited cries that the others pounced upon this fresh delivery of vegetation, and it caught the attention of both the Prince and his mother. “What are you guys doing with all of those, anyway?” She certainly hoped they weren't going to be provided as a meal for the royal family, not after all these goblin paws had mauled them.

            “Decorations!” one devoted and excited goblin cried.

            “For Samhain!” added another.

            Yes, fall had come in full swing to the Underground: the leaves were brightly colored and delicately crisp; the air held a delicious bite to it, one that promised fleshy apples and chilled nights. Colorful leaves were being hung as streamers throughout the City, along with skulls – which was a little less savory to the Queen. Candles were lit constantly, twenty six hours, day and night to celebrate the fiery end of summertime. Cinnamon and clove hung like incense in the air – and the goblins were carving turnips on the Throne Room floor.

            “What kind of decorations?” Sarah asked, adjusting Bronwen's place on her lap, which made him gurgle appreciatively.

            “Jack-o-lanterns!”

            “Will-o-the-wisps!”

            “Keep away the bad fairies!”

            Sarah's brow furrowed in confusion. “Shouldn't you be using pumpkins?”

            “Pumpkins?” The goblins looked at one another, baffled. “No?” Poor Queen; a very sweet girl, but just not the brightest when it came to these kinds of things.

            “How pumpkin scare away bad fairy?”

            “I would think you guys would be enough to scare away any bad fairies.”

            There was a thoughtful, appreciative, “Ohhhh,” from the Queen's audience, as this was considered quite complimentary. Still, Bugwit shook his head as he ripped pulpy flesh from the inside of his own turnip with his long claws. “Turnip lantern work best.”

            “When I was a little girl...” Queen Sarah's soft mouth was turned up in a gentle smile as she bent down and picked up one of the finished turnips, turning it in her hand; her son pawed at it with rounded fingers, his attempts to put it in his mouth thwarted by his watchful mother. “Daddy would drive me to this farm outside town, and there was a pumpkin patch. We'd get cups of hot apple cider and spend an hour picking out the biggest, the best pumpkin.” The memory was a happy one, and she seemed happy in the retelling of it, a finger stroking the soft, round cheek of her beloved child. However, the knowledge of loss was becoming abundantly clear in her pale green eyes. Her looks wavered with the threat of emotion. On his throne, her husband scowled. “I always told him how strong he was, cause he could carry it to the car all by himself, and then we'd go home and we'd...” A sudden sniffle. “We'd-”

            “Court hours are done.” The King stood from his seat, the goblins all looked with wonder and a touch of melancholy; as they could not tell time, they had no idea that court hours were supposed to continue for another twenty minutes at least, and Sarah looked up from her place on her throne with round and wet eyes. Jareth's conduct was not cold, but it brooked no question. He touched his wife under the chin and said in a low, clear voice, “Time for the child to have his afternoon nap, my love.” The motive was clear to Sarah: no more reminiscing today.

 

* * *

 

 

            _When Sarah feels about ready to burst, the Aunties come._

_That is not their true title, she is not sure what that is, and nobody tells it to her; but Jareth calls them the Aunties, and that is enough. She has never seen him act with as much deference and respect to anyone before, not even the High King and Queen. He bows when the old hags enter the Castle doors. When prompted to, he chastely kisses wrinkled hands and sunken cheeks without showing the slightest hint of disgust, despite their horrible appearance. These women have long, ratty hair in all the shades of grey and silver. Their limbs are all bones and skin, baggy and softened by time. Their eyes are covered by drooping lids, and spittle hangs at their dry lips. Sarah finds them horrible, at least at first._

_But Jareth will not let her run from them. When she seems about ready to turn and do her best at waddling to the safety of her room, he holds her by the upper portion of her right arm – tightly, but not painfully. Round and heavy as she is now, Sarah knows she can't do much in the way of running  anyway._

_“But who are they, Jareth?”_

_“Difficult to say.” He sighs through his teeth. “I have heard they are old fey mothers who now share their wisdom with those about to bear children – that is the only time they appear, when they are needed, and then they move on again.”_

_“But I'm not supposed to be due for another-”_

_“Majesty...” One has approached Sarah and taken her hand in warm familiarity. Because Jareth is fixing her with his hardest looks, Sarah represses the urge to shudder at the touch. The old crone's other hand has come to rest upon her swollen belly, and the Queen bites her lower lip nervously. “Ahh, your mortal blood serves you well, I see. Strong and healthy, like a goblin babe.”_

_Sarah turns her head and sees Jareth preening like his owlish nature warrants. He's_ proud _to hear such things, and the girl just turns back to the bent and ugly woman before her, and gulps a little._

_Healer Orso has said she has at least a week, perhaps even two, before the child will be born. Yet the Aunties herald a different time line, and have been there now two days. In those two days, Sarah finds herself alone with them throughout the day, and watches with greater and greater interest: they lay out clothes and rags for when the time comes, they prepare clean sheets on a spare bed and clean copper kettles for heating water. They have a strange chair with an open ring instead of a seat, and they unpack from their strange carpet bags powders and jewels, talismans and salves. Curiosity overpowers Sarah's sense of revulsion, and she finds herself drawn in by these strange, powerful women. They speak in low, laughing, cackling voices, and they smile their toothless smiles at her. They seem to like Sarah._

_And the Aunties are right, and the Healer wrong. On the third day of their stay, Sarah feels the pangs. She is seated at the table with Jareth, who flicks lazily through his morning pile of papers while Sarah feels strangely unable to eat, despite a normally (and understandably) ravenous appetite. Her hands suddenly grip the arms of her chair and her teeth clench; the pain isn't extreme, but it_ is _sudden. “Jareth.” It's all she can say. He turns to face her, expression mainly bored, but at her suddenly heavier breathing, his eyes widen and he stands slowly from his seat at the table._

_Most of the hours that follow are a blur of pain and bloodshed. The Aunties grip her arms with their spindly fingers, and she has no idea how, but they seem to carry her off to the room they've prepared. Healer Orso is all protestations, he says he ought to be there for the birth, that they are to lay her down so he may tend to her. The Aunties shut him out, and seat the girl on that strange stool of theirs. One chuckles lowly in a gravelly voice. “Never lay down, sweet Majesty,” she laughs. “That is to make it easier on them, not you.”_

_“What do I do?” The girl's breathing is labored. She closes her eyes and tries to think about how Karen was when they drove to the hospital. Deep breaths in, deep breaths out, quicker and quicker. God, the pain is worse than anything she could have imagined! Tears have started dripping down her soft cheeks, and it's barely begun._

_“Bear down, sweetness,” another coos, patting her cheek and pressing on her shoulder. “It's all prepared, you'll take to it in no time. Bear down.”_

_She is unaware, but hours are passing. Hours of screaming pain that only grow worse and worse. The bear sneaks in from time to time to report to the King, for the Aunties will not allow him in and say nothing to him. And even when Orso is there, they hiss and bat at him as fiercely as any animal defends its territory. Sarah doesn't really care who is there. She wants it all to end and for the pain to stop. “Jesus Christ, he could have at least magicked up an epidural for me!”_

_“A fascinating idea,” Orso says with misplaced excitement as he checks the Queen's vital signs. “Tell me, what is this thing, and how does it work?” The bear is dragged out before an answer is given, not that one was coming._

_Sarah's eyes have closed because the sweat has dripped into them so much there's no point in keeping them open. The Aunties lift cups of water to her lips periodically, but her voice is shot from screaming. The pain is going to kill her, she's sure, when she hears the agitated voice of the women around her. “Out, Goblin King. This is the sacred space of women, it is_ not _for you.”_

_“If you think I will stand in the hallway like a dunce and listen to her screaming, you are_ very _much mistaken.” His hands are bare when they circle around her arms, and his skin is cool. She leans into the touch for a moment before the panting leaves her breathless and she starts to give a voiceless scream again. His hand is wrapped around her throat, his fingers pressed at the column of her neck, but it is tenderly done. And even if it were not, she is in too much pain to have noticed. “Hush, Sarah,” he says in that honeyed voice of his. He sounds so calm, but just for a moment – for one half of a second – Sarah can catch the shadow of his face in the corner of her salt-stung eyes, and she can sense the trembling within him. “I will allow no harm to come to you.” A crystal has formed in his other hand, and he holds it close to her mouth. “Breathe in, precious thing. Close your eyes and_ trust me _.” There is no other choice, she's desperate for any relief, and obeys without hesitation. The bubble bursts around her, and she feels a cool sensation sliding down her throat, relieving the raw feeling inside of her. And the pain, the pain begins to fade, too. And then, one great last moment of pushing, and-_

_Two Aunties have dragged the Goblin King off his Queen, clucking their tongues and wagging their bony fingers at him all the while. Another, Sarah can just barely make out through the haze of sweat and tears, is washing blood and mucus off some screaming, wriggling thing, a long cord dangling over the old woman's arm. Her bloodshot eyes are fixed there, and she knows Jareth is not moving either, and this his gaze is just as locked._

_An Auntie is encouraging her to press out the last of the awful, necessary things within her, another dabbing a cool, damp cloth against her fevered skin. Both guide her from the chair, which sticks to her sweaty skin, and guide her gently to the bed. Sarah doesn't want to go, she wants to see what's happening, but her legs feel like gelatin, and her voice is too broken for her to protest. When she finds pillows fluffed beneath her head, at last she is able to see: Jareth is holding a bundle swathed in pale blue silk, bouncing very slightly on his heels – and the Goblin Queen has never once seen him look more enraptured._

_“A boy, Majesty,” an Auntie coos as she forces a cup to her lips with some vile concoction within it, and persuades her to drink. “A Goblin Prince. How well you did, for one so young.” A boy. Jareth was right – he is_ always _right._

_But that hardly matters now, Sarah's eyes have not left her husband and the infant in his arms. “N-no...” He was always taking everything; after all the work she'd done, she_ deserved _\- “Ja...” Her voice fails her._

_It's enough. The King's head snaps up, and he crosses quickly to his bride, pressing the child gently into her shaking arms. “Look, Sarah. Look, precious, precious thing.” His lips are refreshingly cold against the flushed skin of her forehead, and looking at the red-faced little bundle, Sarah feels like sobbing again, no matter how it hurts. “You_ did it _. Look at what we made together.” The child opens bleary, hardly seeing eyes, and steals his mother's breath: the right eye, blue, like his father's, and the other is not, also like his father; the left eye is a brilliant and bejeweled green,_ like Sarah _. The fingers of one of Jareth's hands have woven into her hair and she most definitely is sobbing again. “I knew it...I knew, the moment you left, that you would be-”_

_“Most Gracious Majesty, a word, please.” Orso is standing by the window, swaying awkwardly on his big, bear paws. The Aunties are moving around while goblins studiously clean the mess, and with remarkable silence. Sarah hears the women as they murmur to her: when she awakes, they will speak to her again, give her their final lessons, and then move on to other brides and other mothers. The rest will be up to her – there should have been sisters and mothers and aunts beside her to help in the days to come, but there it is. She nods and thinks about how good it will be to have those hours of sleep, but before she can think of that, she finds her gaze arrested by the silhouettes of the healer and the King in front of the burnt-orange window._

_Lowly, she can make out snatches of the words: rest for the Queen, more rest than she will want, weeks of it and in bed. Not to be disturbed or upset, but with the deepest respect for the mind-blowing work her body has put her through in the last several months, and what it will do in the months to come. Instructions for the fact that she is not to be touched for a month and a half, not in the way husbands touch wives. Bland, clinical and soulless repetitions of how much she will bleed, and if she bleeds more than this much, to fetch him right away for the life of the girl. It's too much for Sarah to begin keeping track of, and she's glad Orso isn't speaking to her about it, for once._

_And Jareth? Jareth has those bare, elegant fingers of his pressed against his chin, his mouth turned down thoughtfully, his posture straight. He nods once, twice, more than three times at what the healer – his inferior – tells him with the greatest care. He protests not once, nor grumbles. He looks, for all the world, like a man deeply invested in what he is being told, and when all the talk is finished, when the room is_ at last _nearly silent, Sarah feels her eyes are about to droop closed._

_But before they can...there is the feeling of depression upon the bed, and she feels those long fingers stroking her streaked and tangled hair away from her red, sweating face. She feels a mess. Jareth tells her she is beautiful, that he is_ proud _of his Goblin Queen. So many things to feel, so many ways this is all wrong...But she can feel the warm weight of_ her son _against her arm, and none of those things matter – not the abduction or the yelling or the fighting. She doesn't care how it happened, but she has somebody to love, somebody to love her._

_And Jareth – horrible, selfish, conniving and wonderful Jareth – made it all possible._

 

* * *

 

 

            It was nearly seven thirty; the child would be asleep soon. Evenings were spent in his company, sitting on the floor while his little hands grasped at his many soft, colorful toys. Most ended up in his mouth, so Sarah was careful about what he was allowed to have, and had strict orders for their cleanliness. The magic of the nursery obeyed, and so did the goblins. Everything she said, everything she did seemed to revolve around Bronwen's care and comfort. More storybooks and Underground histories with more colorful pictures for her to read to him. More soft, plush toys – this one a Fiery with wobbly arms, this one a wolf done all in fur. More clothes and shoes done in silks and suedes, velvets and brushed leather. Sarah had a problem common to all teenage mothers: her entire world was her baby. An older woman, one who had the benefit of perspective, would know that she could love her child without the exclusion of care for her own life. Sarah didn't have that, and so she _obsessed_ over Bronwen and what was best to make him happy and strong. The only one who could have changed that was her husband, and as he _liked_ the current situation, he was disinclined to alter it. Perhaps it didn't matter. Sarah was now at least happy for something; for all the stress and torment pregnancy had put her through, the instinctual love she bore her issue beat all her fears to dust.

            And for his part, Jareth was relatively docile now, calmer when in the presence of his family; he was less likely to snarl at her or be demanding, or at least with less vigor. Each night, after the evening meal and before the royal couple retired, they spent their time with the Prince in his nursery, endlessly amused by his newest antics, laughing and adoring. An outside observer would have found it quite touching, and perhaps, in its own way, it was.

            Tonight, a fire roared in the grate to warm the Prince's room; if he were exposed to so much as a draft, the Goblin Queen would have earned her title in rage for the negligence of others. Bronwen was able to sit on his own now, and his massive head no longer wobbled on an unsteady neck. In his tiny fists, he wielded a soft toy horse, made in a patchwork of different colors, and he smashed the poor thing repeatedly on the soft carpet of his floor. His mother watched him from just a foot or two away, her back resting against a settee as she sat on the floor, skirts spread in a wave around her. She laughed and cooed over his every movement, totally absorbed in what her son was doing. “Is that fun, Bron? Is the horsey running?” Prince Bronwen briefly turned in the direction of his mother's voice, but was soon back to his playing. The Queen instead addressed his father, who leaned elegantly over the settee and watched both his precious things with a relaxed and easy expression. “Karen's books all said that babies don't form attachments until they're six months old, but Bronwen's so smart, I think he's way ahead of that.”

            “Hm,” was the lazy, easy reply, the Goblin King enjoying the warmth of the fire and of his little family.

            Sarah cooed to her child again, but Bronwen quite ignored her this time. “Browen loves his mommy, doesn't he? Mommy's little prince...and when you grow up, you'll have magic, and a throne, and a Kingdom, and everything you ever want, I _promise_.” She seemed ironically unaware that a King getting everything he wanted was the cause of her troubles in the first place; but for his part, Jareth rolled easily off the settee, and quite surprised his wife by laying himself perpendicular to her on the floor, head in her soft lap. His gloved hand found hers and he threaded her fingers into his hair, eyes half-closed in sleepy, easy pleasure as he looked up at her. Sarah's mouth had parted into a soft, red O of surprise, and she just looked down at her husband.

            “I have never been more a king than in this moment,” he addressed her in his low, smooth tenor. Sarah's confusion doubled, but she did not move or stir beneath his head. “Not at the head of an army, not claiming a throne. But here, with a Queen, and an heir that assures my Kingdom for _eternity_...” He pulled her hand from his hair and kissed the fingers fiercely before returning them again. “You have given me _everything_ , Sarah.” The girl's throat constricted, the Goblin King could perhaps see the lump that moved as she tried to swallow. Why did he have to talk like this, or look at her with those fiercely flashing eyes of his? Eyes that spoke of possession and passion, promises of pleasure and of power, if she but played the game with him. Sarah's breath came in shorter gasps, and he leaned up slightly with his forearms resting against her round thighs. “Well, not _everything_.” His gaze slipped to her mouth, and Sarah felt desire pooling within in spite of herself. “You can hardly blame me for being selfish and greedy...I'm so used to having my own way...”

            “Jareth-”

            Anything she had to say was cut off by the gentle pressure of his fingers gripping her chin, angling her so that their eyes both drooped low, but still met one another's gaze; dark looks that she knew all too well were passing between them. “What is there left to want, hm? How about the love of a woman...the _only_ woman that matters. Ahh, if such a girl worshiped me, if she let me worship her...how could I want for anything?” His soft, dry lips were tantalizingly close, and Sarah's own were still parted with her surprise and with her longing. She felt herself pulled in closer to him with every soft breath, like he was a star, and she the orbiting planet. Something was threading the air, crackling against her skin and hair, and she might have said it was magic, but it was far more _primal_ than that. Lean forward in only the slightest of ways, and she'd be able to catch his mouth with her own, tease and taste him, slip the tip of her tongue against his lower lip in the way that elicited that low growl of his. She liked that – she knew he did as well. She was just about to give in to the urge to do just that, when-

            There was a faint squeak as the toy horse was hurled against the opposite wall, and Bronwen had begun his angry bawling. “Oh, _baby_!” The Goblin King ground his teeth together as his Queen slipped out from under his weight, hurrying to their child and scooping him into her arms. “Somebody's just a little grumpy, isn't he?” Bronwen was near to screaming his reply, fists tightening on the collar of his mother's gown. “Bedtime, bedtime, shhh....” She bounced him expertly in her arms as his fussing slowed. Jareth sat back against the settee as the unseen Nurse laid out the child's sleep clothes and Sarah unfastened his current outfit, voice soft. “We can start a story while we get ready. Once upon a time, there was a handsome prince that everybody loved, and he was strong and brave and smart and loyal...”

            Sarah's voice took on a beautiful lilt when she spun stories; she did not get too many sentences farther before the boy's eyes were drooping and he was nearly poured into his footed pajamas. Jareth rose and stood behind his wife as she tucked their child into his elegant, dark wood crib, rearranging toys and blankets and generally fussing. She spoke again with another of her longing sighs. “He needs more blankets.”

            “He has perhaps several hundred in the wardrobe.”

            “But those aren't good enough, not for him!” She turned from her spot by the crib and found she was pressed very closely to her husband, who was chuckling at her. Sarah's eyes dropped a little, she even blushed in that pretty way he liked. “Well, it's getting colder. We should get him some blue fleece ones, he likes blue.”

            “I'm not sure he really cares.”

            “Of _course_ he cares, Jareth. They can be fleece and wool, but only if it's soft, I don't want anything to scratch his skin. Babies are sensitive, you know.”

            “Oh yes,” he breathed against her cheek, his fingers brushing against her chin again. “I know...”

            Sarah diverted her eyes back to the crib, her fingers brushing against a lock of the child's silky blond hair, so much like his father in almost every conceivable way. “Or we could get orange ones, for Samhain. Or black! So it's with the holiday. We could get some decorated with bats, or with pumpkins. When I was home for Halloween, we dressed Toby up as a pumpkin, and I got to take him trick-or-treating.” Sarah's eyes were sparkling for a moment, but Jareth's jaw was stiff again – and wisely so, for almost immediately, those green eyes of hers were going soft and damp. “Dad and Karen let me do it all myself, and we got tons of candy, because he was so cute...A-and after that, Toby only wanted to go trick-or-treating with _me_ , or he'd start crying, a-and-”

            “ _Sarah_.” Jareth's hand tightened over hers where it gripped the railing of the crib. “Stop this at once.”

            Her face was turned away from his and she had the back of her free hand pressed against her eyes in an attempt to hide her tears from him. Why did the girl always have to do this! One step forward and two steps back, that's how it always was with her! Give her a throne, she'd say she hated him; give her a family, she wanted her old life. It was _infuriating._ “S-stop what, I haven't said anything. I don't even ask you anymore, do I! It wouldn't matter if I did-”

            “I refuse to have this argument with you again.”

            “Then _don't_.” She had pulled her hand out from under his, turning away and rushing for the nursery door. “Don't say _a word_.”

            The door closed with enough force to stir the child in his crib, but luckily, he did not cry again. Instead, he opened his own mismatched eyes and fixed them on the sharp face of his father. Jareth was back to grinding his teeth, and he slid his thumbnail between the sharp points to give himself something to gnaw. “Your mother is _impossible_ , Bronwen.” Bronwen blinked sleepy eyes, but did not protest. “And she was crying _again_. I swear she does it just to upset me, she loves to _rankle_ me, I _swear_ she gets off on it.” Jareth leaned over the crib and gazed at the child: sharply up-swung eyebrows, unreal eyes, a flash of gold and silver hair, and sharp cheekbones – all daddy. But the soft blunting of the nose, the fuller lips and the gentle green of that left eye, all the things the King loved about his wife, all the ways he was _proud_ to see her in the child she'd finally given him, after so much time of bargaining and baiting. With another sigh, the King of Dreams let his soft, gloved hand trail against the boy. “...I have a feeling Daddy is going to have his advances rebuffed tonight.” Bronwen gurgled, as though engaged in this conversation. “Oh? And just what help were you, hm? Or are you on _her_ side and enjoy tormenting me?”

            The baby boy flashed a toothless grin and slid a pink thumb into his mouth.

 

* * *

 

 

            _She's mostly been confined to her bed for more than the last month. She hadn't minded at first, still so tired and so sore, but now the boredom has become a kind of agony. Sarah_ knows _she's not fully well yet, but surely confining her like she were dying of consumption isn't going to help either! She's been allowed to sit in a chair instead of in a bed, and recently was guided to the library with lots of hands to catch her. The rest of the time, though, it's usually in bed._

_But she gets to spend_ lots _of time with the baby. He sleeps a lot, and when he doesn't do that, he eats. Just a few weeks old, he needs a lot of rest. He's not all red and pathetic anymore; no, Sarah thinks he's_ beautiful _. Beautiful like his father, but in a babyish way. It's no fun being cooped up, but when she has Bronwen, she's never alone._

_He was born just a bit after her nineteenth birthday – and isn't that a scary thought, a whole year Underground. Now it's summer, and the green of the trees taunts her as the limbs sway outside her window. Jareth spends his breaks with her, during the day, taking tea or eating meals. She hasn't been eating as much as she was, and at first he fusses, but now it seems alright. He calls her his little bird when she pokes at her food, and she has no idea why it always makes her blush._

_At night, he sleeps beside her, and he often wraps her in his arms – but that's all. Oh, kisses here and there, pressed against her temple or her hair, a few more feverish ones that brush her lips, but he stops swiftly after that. He has not complained, not even once, about the lack of intimacy, which astounds her. It's actually kind of nice, in it's own way; she gets to be near him without being his piece of meat. She feels a little closer to him now, talks to him, learns things she hadn't thought about asking before._

_But after more than a month on bed rest, Sarah is_ bored _. And she makes her unhappiness_ well _known when her husband comes to see her in the afternoons. She whines, she pouts, she makes as much noise as possible until one day – finally – he strides into the room with his jaw set in an irritated line. Before she can ask any questions, he has wrapped her in a blanket and scooped her into his arms, as if she did weigh no more than a little bird. She hasn't felt the world shift beneath their feet in quite some time, it makes her nauseous for a moment, but then they're out in the King's garden, and it's all she can do to catch her breath._

_Wonderful, everything is wonderful! A warm breeze blows over soft grasses, the flowers are full and fragrant, and the leaves of the trees are all brilliantly green. She's giddy when he sets her gently down on a stone bench, but she's_ ecstatic _when a smart goblin nurse presents her bundle of joy to her._

_Sarah worries while Jareth looks over her shoulder at him. “Shouldn't he have another blanket? He's going to catch cold.”_

_“Sarah, it's the middle of summer.”_

_“Then he ought to wear a bonnet! Sunburns aren't good for babies!”_

_Jareth sighs and laughs a little in the back of his throat. “How right you are, precious thing. Best to get him out of the sun, then, hm?” A snap of his fingers, and a blanket is unrolling itself beneath the shade of a massive oak, and Jareth carries both his most prized burdens there together, as if the weight were nothing more to him than a feather. Sarah doesn't mean to, but she finds herself giggling with girlish glee._

_An hour is passing in the happiest way she could ever have anticipated. Goblins are bringing water with different fruits swimming in them to cool Their Majesties, and Jareth talks to her like someone that matters – like he wants to know her thoughts and not dismiss them. He does not railroad her, the way he usually does, and they talk about books and they talk about magic; they talk about different aspects of the Kingdom, things he promises to show her, when she's well, and he actually listens when she gives her opinions on matters of state. He's never done it before. She can't begin to guess at the changes, but she thinks maybe being forced to keep his hands off of her has led him to appreciate qualities of hers he had not bothered to look closely at before. Whatever the reason....she's happy._

_When the sun is growing just a little too hot for princes, the goblin nurse is back again. Sarah fusses over the boy for a moment or two, correcting the old, gnarled creature on how best to hold him and what he likes to have for his naps. The woman stares at her Queen like she has completely lost her mind, and perhaps she has, but her instructions are finally brought to a close when Jareth's hands close over her own._

_“It will be fine, precious,” he assures her, and she reluctantly believes him. For not wanting this child, she would kill now should anyone harm a hair upon his royal brow. A true Goblin Queen._

_They're alone together now, and Sarah can feel his eyes upon her face in a hungrier way than they'd been when the child was present. She tells herself she feels annoyed, because obviously Jareth has been buttering her up just to make her willing to go to bed with him again, but her body apparently isn't listening to this instruction, for the rest of her burns with electric excitement at his nearness. He must have said something before he brought his lips to hers, but neither of them recall what as soon as it's said. Instead, there is only the kiss, the gentle crush of mouths that have secretly missed one another. She'd almost forgot the soft warmth of his tongue, of the way she rather liked pulling gently at his lower lip. She'd almost forgotten the way it made his eyes flare, the way it made her feel so powerful and..._ warm _._

_“Stop me, Sarah.” His fierce claw of a hand is wrapped gently around her shoulder, unsure if he is pulling her in or pushing her away. Sarah's breathing is heavy and she can't take her eyes from his mouth, while her primeval mind only wonders why he isn't kissing her again. “Tell me no, or I won't stop myself.”_

_Sarah's tongue wets her lips, her eyes still focused on his, and she simply gives her head a little shake. “Mnm,” is the only denial she'll give before she presses her mouth, warm and needy, against his own. He clutches her closer, and she's alive with a heat that has nothing to do with the season. Her mouth has never been so hungry for his, so grasping. He lays her back against the blanket and her hands snake into his hair without needing to be told. Their kisses are fervent, but their movements are slow. When he takes her, it's_ achingly _gently, like a priest might worship his goddess, with reverence and awe for her. Sarah can tell the ecstatic moment this time will be_ intense _. Six weeks of abstinence, that's what the healer said. In the six weeks that follow that, the Goblin King will be the most tender, the most considerate lover in the Underground. Sarah would not have given him credit for it, when first they were wed. Now, he stokes a fire in her that could consume them both with its intensity._

_Underneath the protection of the great oak tree, Jareth is so tender that it steals Sarah's breath away – and she knows she is dangerously close to falling completely in love with her husband._

 

* * *

 

 

            Sarah had fallen asleep in the nursery, more tired than she expected; Bron had been fussy before his nap, and Sarah had not wanted to leave him before he fell asleep – she felt guilty, otherwise, like a bad mother neglecting her child. She had been in the rocking chair, and Bronwen had been in her arms. She fell asleep long before he did, but, despite her lack of knowledge, he _had_ slept with his head pillowed against his mother's breast.

            The chair, however, was rocking, and a voice was penetrating Sarah's sleep, and it was all waking her. “Get up.”

            “Hmm...?” She realized now she wasn't holding Bronwen, and had been about to fly into a sleepy panic – but Jareth pressed his finger against her lips. Sarah blinked her green, tired eyes and looked where he was pointing. He must have moved Bronwen to the crib, and the child was fast asleep. Sarah just blinked again; what could he want?

            “Get dressed,” he whispered in his low, smooth voice.

            “I am dressed.”

            “In these.” He held out a bundle wrapped in brown paper, tied with a simple string, and Sarah took it with curious hands. When she did untie it, it was....her clothes, her _real_ clothes – or her old clothes, she wasn't sure which was correct. A pair of jeans, a white blouse.

            Sarah just looked up at him. “What's all this for.”

            “Don't argue, Sarah.” The Goblin King's eyes flashed dangerously, narrowly. “I am truly not in the mood.” No, he very clearly was not.

 

* * *

 

 

            The world had shifted around her, and it seemed to last a lot longer this time. It made her head swim, a slight ache, and everything felt dark. Oh....no, it just _was_ dark. Sarah's eyes blinked in the inky blackness of night, and felt cold, October air hitting her skin. She rubbed her hands against her arms and she started slightly at a sudden tiny, bright flash to her left, about eye level. It passed to a dull glow, though she could see hands in that one moment – black leather gloves; Jareth, then. The glow faded to almost nothing, and her nose pricked at a sudden, pungent odor.

            It was...a cigarette. Sarah turned her face up to her husband, slightly relieved by his warm presence beside her, and saw his strange eyes close as he took a long, satisfied drag on the cigarette. “I didn't know you smoked.”

            He held the smoke for a moment before letting it slip between his pale lips in a soft, _“hush..._ ”“I like to indulge in mortal vices when I'm in the Aboveground, dearest – well, when it's in an unofficial capacity.”

            She coughed slightly, a hand going to her mouth as the smoke cloud stung her eyes. “It's a terrible habit, you know.”

            His thin lips smirked at her as he took another, long puff. “I'm a terrible man.”

            It was definitely Jareth's voice greeting her in the dark, but it certainly didn't look like Jareth: the man beside her had darker hair, blonder, less platinum; and rather than being wild and straying in all directions, this coif of hair was far shorter, and swept in an arc against his head. Sarah's fingers actually twitched with the sudden urge to touch it – she had never seen Jareth in a mortal disguise. She wondered if he would feel the same as always, or subtly different? Would it be wrong, or pleasant? Or perhaps a little of both, which was usual with him. His dress was mortal, but not really all that different from his usual. Along with the black leather gloves, he had a jacket of tight, burgundy leather, and a pair of even tighter, dark washed jeans. He looked like the sort of man who might pull up on a motorcycle and give her father a case of apoplexy.

            ...if she were being honest, he looked like the rock stars she used to sigh over with her friends. He looked downright _sexy_.

            But with Jareth, Sarah was _never_ honest. She couldn't afford to be.

            “Where are we,” she instead asked around a cough, squinting against the acrid smoke that stung her eyes.

            “You mean you don't recognize it? My, my, I suppose that means you really _are_ at home with me, my love.”

            “Recognize...?” Her voice trailed off and her head swiveled in the dark. Recognize what? What was there to recognize? No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than her voice caught in her throat with a pained gasp: this darkened street, this was _her_ street! This was Castle Heights Avenue, and all the porches of all the old Victorians were dotted with round pumpkins. The old elm tree was spilling its yellow leaves into the gutter as always, which mean meant Mr. Peters would be grumbling over his rake again. She could smell wood-burning fireplaces from the smoke that poured from every chimney, and it was all so acute, all so natural, it felt like she had never been gone at all. This time, it was more than Jareth's cigarette smoke that was stinging her eyes.

            Sarah was a mess of desperate trembling, excited and overwhelmed beyond measure. Her head darted this way and that until she spied the darkened steps of her own house. The porch light was off, and why would it not be? They certainly weren't expecting company, at this time of night. She took the steps two at a time, remembering how she'd run home from the park with Merlin, and later with Toby, though that was much more a brisk trot with his little legs. She stood before her door and shivered head to toe. The very moment she'd been longing for, dreaming about, praying and crying for for one and a half _years_!

            ….what should she do?

            A younger version of Sarah would have been _furious_ , but she actually turned to look at her husband with parted, questioning lips. Well, right or wrong, what was there to say? She was knit to him now, and there was no escaping it. His own mouth smirked at her around his dying cigarette. With delicate fingers, he let it drop onto the pathway and crushed it under a thickly heeled boot. Sarah glanced at the movement and back up at him, and Jareth elegantly twisted his wrist in a gesture that she should go ahead. “Well? Knock, precious.”

            Sarah knocked. Her hand trembled as she held the brass ring between delicate fingers, but she knocked. For a moment, there was silence. Then, of a sudden, she could hear the light stomping of feet coming down the hall, through the foyer; if she closed her eyes, she could still see every detail, the pictures on the wall, the chandelier hanging high up on the ceiling, where its tiny crystals were impossible to keep free of dust and cobwebs. She was simultaneously so excited and so scared that she was convinced her heart would burst. Sarah's palms sweated, and she wanted to run away – to where, she was unsure, but far and fast and just not stop until the feeling would be worn out of her.

            The door opened.

            It was her step-mother. Karen was still wearing her power suit from work, this one in dark blue, and her pumps made her an inch or so taller than her step-daughter. There were a few more wrinkles around her blue eyes than Sarah remembered, and for a heartbeat or so, the two women just stood in the doorway, staring at one another.

            After a long silence, where not even a breath stirred between them, Karen at last spoke, a tremble in her voice. “...S-Sarah?”

            Sarah felt sure she was smiling, but it was painful, and tinged with a bit of sadness. “Hi, Karen.”

            Mrs. Williams gave a sudden cry, taking the girl's face in her soft hands with her long, painted nails, and pulled her to her in a crushing embrace. “Oh, Sarah! Oh God, is it really you? Oh God! _Robert_!” She had turned her head and nearly shrieked down the hall, her voice was ringing shrilly in Sarah's ears. She felt the twitching of Jareth's hand at her elbow. “ _Robert, come here right now_!”

            Karen still had her right hand on Sarah's cheek as the girl heard the thudding of her father's steps from the dining room. The out-of-place Goblin Queen could feel her palms start to sweat again with her nerves. “What is it, hon- _Sarah_!”

            The moments were passing in a blur of shouting and screaming and hugging and crying. Crying? Oh, those weren't just the tears of her family, Sarah realized, her own were slipping freely down her cheeks as she was yanked into the house, embraced, kissed, turned this way and that, peppered with too many questions to even begin to answer. Still unnoticed, her lordly husband had walked calmly over the threshold and closed the door behind him, where he leaned with all the elegance of a predator in repose. Toby had come running at all the noise as well, and he bounced up and down on his feet when he wasn't busy pulling at the leg of his sister's jeans. Jareth watched him with a more keen interest than he did the rest of the proceedings.

            “Where have you been?”

            “What's happened?”

            “Are you alright? Oh, Sarah!”

            “Stop.” Her voice was weak, choked with emotional tears, and she rubbed the back of her hand against her eyes. “S-stop...I-I'll tell you all about it, but I... _really_ want to sit down.”

            “Of course you do.” Karen was smoothing down her hair, mussed with static and kisses. “We'll sit at the table, I'll put the kettle on, we'll...” The usually strong and direct woman lost her voice, her bright blue eyes at last landing on the strange figure at her door. “...who is this?”

            Jareth grinned with those sharp teeth of his, and Sarah found herself staring at the floor; she knew he wasn't going to make this easy on her. “Just Jareth will do, Mrs. Williams,” he smiled, his gloved hand outstretched. “The pleasure is _all_ mine.”

            “I...um....welcome?” was all she could say, and it came out more as a question than as a greeting. The air had grown more tense. Sarah cleared her throat.

            “Let's sit, huh?”

            “Yes, of course, honey. This way.” No one let Sarah go as she was dragged into the dining room, as if afraid she'd vanish again if they did. Karen disappeared into the kitchen for the barest amount of time necessary to put on the fixings for tea, and everyone sat around the table with a tense, awkward silence – everyone but Jareth, anyway. His Majesty stood a few inches behind his wife's chair and declined a seat, leaning instead against the smooth papering of the wall.

            He did, however, retrieve the package of cigarettes from his pocket. Robert cleared his throat. “Jareth, I apologize, but we don't smoke.”

            The Goblin King gave a tight smile around the tip of the cigarette and gracefully inclined his head. “No bother at all, Mr. Williams, really.”

            Sarah fixed him with an irritated glare. “Smoking would be bad for _Toby_ ,” she hissed; it figured he wouldn't think of anyone but himself with these things. With that scolding, the King sighed (did he roll his eyes, just a little?) and slid the small tube back into its paper package and that back into the pocket of his leather jacket.

            “Sarah...” Her father began it awkwardly, but it was in his strong, clear voice. The girl's eyes closed; how long it had been since she'd heard her father's voice. “Sweetheart – all that matters is that you're home now, so you don't have to tell us anything, if you don't want to. But...where did you go, the night you disappeared?”

            “You didn't run away, did you?” Karen's fingers were drumming the table anxiously as steam wafted up from her porcelain cup. “We _told_ them you wouldn't do that, that you had lots of friends at school, and you had scholarships for Columbia, and-”

            “Karen, let her talk.”

            “N-no,” Sarah whispered, finding it harder to look them in the face. She was about to lie to her family. The thought was a horrible one; but what else was she supposed to do? Tell them the truth? That she'd once wished away her brother, and that in saving him she'd sealed her own doom? Even if Jareth kept them from putting her in a mad house, she knew he wouldn't like her version of events, and it was him she had to live with, as sure as she drew breath. “I didn't run away...I didn't want to go.”

            “Someone took you, then, didn't they?” Two sets of eyes immediately fixed on Jareth, her father's and her step-mother's. Toby was five and didn't quite understand what was going on, he was enjoying hot chocolate and the presence of his sister.

            “It wasn't him!” Sarah insisted quickly, sitting up straighter in desperation. That one was going to be the biggest lie of all, it felt difficult to even say it, but she _had_ to. The last thing she could handle would be a screaming match between her family and her husband.

            “Well...who?”

            “I...I didn't ever really know him.”

            “What?”

            Robert was about to rise from the table. “I'm calling Sergeant Stark.”

            Sarah almost flung herself across the table, arm outstretched. “Daddy, no!”

            “ _Sarah_.” He reached down and squeezed her fingers. “I understand being scared, wanting nothing to do with this. But it's been a year and a half, the-” his voice was breaking. “The _searches_ we put out for you-!”

            Karen interrupted, taking her other hand in her calm, controlled way; she had always been good at that. “What your father means, dear, is that even if you don't want to do this for yourself, if someone is out there abducting young women, surely you want to keep _other_ girls safe.”

            “W-well....that guy's dead.” Her parents' jaws dropped. She could feel Jareth pinching the bridge of his nose behind her, could hear his sigh. _Great, Williams. Just keep digging that hole_. “Toby, cover your ears.”

            “But I want to-”

            Karen covered her belligerent son's ears. “What, Sarah?”

            “I, um....he was trying to, so I....” She nodded firmly. “I killed him – it was self-defense.”

            Her father was staring at her. “...how.”

            Shit. This shouldn't be so hard; the only thing she could think of was Jareth's threats to rip King Tothian limb from limb. The image was _not_ a helpful one. “A pipe,” she said in a small voice, wishing she were the actress her mother was. “Like, a big one, just...wham.”

            The Williams couple looked at each other. They looked at their girl. They looked at the man behind her. “And...Jareth?”

            “Oh, uh...”

            Jareth leaned forward, gripping the back of his chair. “I found Sarah shortly after her escape.” His lies slipped easily from his tongue, like he was well practiced; Sarah wondered what kind of lies he might tell her. “It was I who helped her get home.”

            There was a long silence. Karen released her son's ears. “Toby, I want you to go in the kitchen and get more tea.”

            “Do I have to?”

            “ _Yes_.” The boy scooted off his chair and ambled into the waiting kitchen; Robert and Karen immediately shifted their focus back to the girl at the table. “Sarah, were you sexually assaulted?”

            “What?”

            “I'm still calling Sergeant Stark.”

            “Dad, no!”

            “Answer me, Sarah.”

            “Oh gawd...technically?”

            “ _Technically_?”

            “W-well!” she started with an awkward defense. “I mean, I _did_ say no, but then there was a lot of saying yes – and I know that doesn't make it better, but-”

            “Don't worry, Sarah. We're going to get you doctors – therapists. It's all going to be okay.”

            “ _Karen_ -”

            “That's _enough_.” She could hear a snap from behind her, and the world went quiet. Sarah stared straight ahead, her hands still caught in her step-mother's – but the woman wasn't moving. Her father was still half-risen from his chair, in an awkward position he'd never actually _hold_ in real life.

            Ah...but this life wasn't quite real. Time had been stopped. Sarah turned and looked up at her husband.

            “You're doing a fantastic job, _Sarah_.” Jareth was....irritated. His arms were crossed over his chest, he tapped his toe with impatience. “ _Well done_.”

            “Well, what was I supposed to tell them,” she hissed, pulling her hands from Karen's frozen fingers. “You didn't warn me we were coming, you didn't tell me what you wanted me to say.”

            “Ah, so this is _my_ fault, is it?”

            “How is this _not_ your fault!”

            The Goblin King just huffed; a crystal had appeared in his hands, and he rolled it back and forth across his fingers, over his knuckles, along his thin wrists. “...not to worry, precious. I'll get us out of this, hm?”

            Sarah's heart jumped into her throat. “I-I'm not ready to go y-”

            “Hush.” He pressed the crystal against her lips; it felt icy and she winced a little. “Just something to make this go more smoothly, not to worry...” With that, he pulled the crystal back to his own mouth, blew gently upon it, and Sarah watched it burst into a million tiny, glittering parts. This effervescent dust floated gently through the air for just a moment or two – and the world grew warm and lively again.

            Karen was sitting back slowly, blinking warm, sleepy eyes. She looked across the table at her step-daughter and smiled. “ _Sarah_.” Her tone was light, scolding, teasing – playful. “We're just happy to see you, honey, but you could have just _told_ us you were eloping.”

            “W-what?”

            Her dad was leaning far back in his chair, an equally contented smile on his tired lips. “Yes, we would have understood, you know. But if this is what you _wanted –_ as long as you're happy-”

            “Dad.” Sarah stood up, a little horrified. This was _not_ what she wanted. She wanted to turn and slap Jareth across the face; that son of a bitch. Getting them out of a messy situation was one thing – making it seem like this was all _okay_ was quite another.

            “You know how difficult marriage can be, Mr. Williams.” Jareth had a smile on those horrible, pale lips of his, and Sarah could feel his gloved hands at her waist, pulling her back in; he felt warm. She wanted to kick him, to bite him, to scream – and simultaneously, felt the most disgusting urge to bury herself in his coat. This went too deep. Maybe she did need a therapist. “But love is love – we soldier on.”

            “Your father would have wanted to walk you down the aisle, Sarah!”

            “Now, now, it's whatever Sarah wants.”

            She turned her head from side to side, gaping at them a little. They looked like they were _drunk_ , it was the best way to describe it. She felt like she might scream at any moment – and then Toby came into the room, carrying the box full of teas. He had a skeptical look on his face, the look of a child who knows some sort of important conversation is happening, and one who does not trust the adults speaking. He didn't look like her parents. For whatever reason, Sarah found that to be a relief.

            “And is _your_ marriage difficult, pumpkin?” Her father seemed to be trying to soothe her, pouring more hot water into his cup.

            Sarah opened her mouth to speak, but Jareth beat her to it. “Extremely.”

            Her jaw snapped shut, she turned to look at him. “Wha...Jareth...”

            He spared her a very small glance, but was selecting a variety of tea for himself out of the box Toby had placed on the table; he seemed to dislike most of the options. Sarah wasn't surprised, she'd never seen him drinking bagged tea before. “Sarah and I disagree – _quite_ a lot. About coming here, for instance.”

            “Didn't want to meet the in-laws, hm?” The King gave a polite smile in response and delicately poured water from the pot into an empty cup. “Well, what changed your mind?”

            “Sarah.”

            “Me?”

            Another glance, but he was giving his unwrapped teabag a peremptory sniff. “When she is unhappy, what else can I do? I promised to be her slave, and here I am.”

            “This is gross,” Toby grumbled, yanking open another package of powdered cocoa and spilling it more onto the table than into his cup.

            “How right you are, young Toby.”

            “Well,” Robert was laughing in his sleepy, enchanted way. “At least you're aware of it, that's way better than some of us ever do.”

            Sarah felt herself staring around the table; she hadn't dreamed of coming home being like this, not at _all_ like this. She had known an explanation would probably be necessary, but as going home was just a fantasy to her, she skipped over most of that. Jareth had never figured into this dream of hers, and she bit her lip. If she asked to stay, what would he say? No, of course. It didn't mean she couldn't ask, couldn't beg and scream and cry-

            She wasn't going to.

            Instead, the girl slid slowly back down into her chair, felt her husband's hand briefly stroking her hair and shoulder before returning to fuss with his sub-par tea. This was what she had not anticipated – being different when she came home. It had seemed just _getting_ home was the answer to all her problems, but here she was, and the problems were already worse. She couldn't stay here, this life was gone forever, gone with her innocence and her past – a crystal spell didn't _fix_ anything. And what about Bron? If she stayed here, how would she be different from her mother?

            Sarah slid her hand up so that it covered Jareth's gloved one, where he possessively held her shoulder. It stirred the Goblin King, he looked at her – and finally and quietly took the seat beside her.

 

* * *

 

 

            They talked until it became very late. At first, Sarah was upset, because in its own way, none of this was real, this lie about elopement, this false congeniality. But then she considered – she hadn't seen her family in a _year and a half_. Did it even _matter_ what the circumstances were, so long as she was home, so long as she was with them again? The love was the important part, not the details, not sizing up every way her life had gone wrong the moment she turned eighteen. If she did that, this moment would be lost to her forever, just another miserable memory in a self-pitying life.

            So she gave in, in a sense. She smiled (slowly), and relaxed (eventually), and even was able to laugh at a few of the jokes her father told, and even one or two of Jareth's dry quips. But no magic, Sarah well knew, lasted forever; Jareth was putting his hand on her knee more and more frequently, a kind of warning, to her mind. Toby's head was drooping with exhaustion, and Karen was talking of putting him to bed, despite his whines and protests.

            “At least let me show Sarah my costume first!” he pleaded, his voice a high whine, his eyes almost black with exhaustion.

            Sarah smiled. “Of course I want to see your costume. You go put it on, we'll wait.”

            Jareth stood, and Sarah tilted her head up at him. “Do I have permission to smoke in the out of doors?”

            “What? Oh, certainly. The backyard is right through-”

            “Thank you. Sarah,” he said it, not really as a question, but not quite as an order, his gloved hand held down to her. She looked at it briefly, back up at his face – and didn't feel bad taking it this time. Her parents went to clean up the tea things, and where Toby had spilled along the table. Outside, the night air was very clear and crisp and cold, and Sarah could see her breath as she stared up at the faint light of the stars. Leaving soon, leaving soon...the notion both terrified and relieved her; she was too used to the Underground. Yup, Stockholm for sure.

            Jareth was fiddling with the cigarette between his lips, almost chewing it. “Well? Am I less your monster now, your villain?”

            She felt her lips twitch into a smile in spite of herself. “You're sensitive about that, aren't you?”

            He was glaring at her as he raised the lighter up, the fire a beautiful, glowing flicker in the dark. “This would generally be the part where you level your hatred against me and beg to stay.”

            Sarah sighed, tucking her hands into her back pockets in an attempt to warm them. “And you would deserve every word of it.”

            “ _Would I_?” It was a growl, but to her, it was a desperate show of bravado. _He is so sensitive_...

            She just barely glanced at him with green eyes. “What do _you_ think, Jareth?”

            He paused, the cigarette lit but the lighter still held up. After a moment, he flicked it closed and returned it to a pocket, back to his neurotic puffing. “A question I choose not to answer. Instead, I will ask if my _generosity_ is at last to be appreciated, or if I shall be railed against when I take you _home_?”

            Sarah sighed again, her head dipped forward so her chin rested against her clavicle. “No, no arguing tonight.”

            Jareth had gone very still across from her, and it made Sarah pick her head back up and tilt it just a little to the side. “...not tonight?”

            “Would anything change?”

            “Pardon me, but I think that, in itself, _is_ change.”

            Her smile was a little weak, a little sad, but it was real, it was hers. “Guess so.”

            He was staring at her, which was a little unnerving – but more so was when he plucked the still-lit cigarette from his lips and hurled it uncaring into the dark yard. Sarah watched it bounce once, twice, with a nervous bite of her lip, but the thing extinguished itself harmlessly in the dewy evening. Sarah didn't get a chance to scold him, he had suddenly wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her tightly against his chest. The breath swooshed out of her lungs in her surprise.

            “You understand, don't you?” One hand was stroking down her long, silky hair more rapturously than she could ever remember before. The other clutched her so tightly she almost couldn't breathe. “Why I cannot let you go? It's selfish, I _know_ that, I am a wicked, self-centered creature. But I _cannot_ let you leave me...” It didn't sound threatening this time; it sounded nearly desperate with emotion. “I took you, Sarah, because that was my duty, because I _had_ to. I keep you because I _need_ to.”

            “That doesn't sound very different...”

            “Doesn't it?” He tilted her chin up to him with his thumb and forefinger. It was difficult to move because there was so little space between them. “What is it you wish me to say, you frustrating, lovely girl? That I adore you? That I have never wanted anyone the way that I want you? Is it weakness you want out of me?”

            “N-no.”

            “What, then?”

            Oh, _so_ many things, some of them she'd told him before: respect, care, thoughtfulness... but...Jareth had brought her mother to the Underground when Sarah was lonely, and tonight he had taken her home even though it was _abundantly_ clear it was the very last thing he had any wish to do. He _was_ terrible, and selfish, and cruel and sadistic – but given that, didn't that make these efforts all the more significant? She smiled softly, a hand coming up to rest along his sharp cheek. “I can’t come back….Bronwen’s at home.” She could see his eyes flash – because of their child, because choosing him over the family that was left behind, because of what she labeled as _home_. “I understand, Jareth.”

            She saw his eyes flicker with some strange emotion in the darkness, and he kissed her palm. His voice was a whisper in the inky blackness: “It's time we be going, precious thing.”

            “Wait.” She gripped the collar of his coat, stroking her hand along his face. “Please, say we can come back. I-I have other things to say, I want to tell them about the baby...”

            “Someday, perhaps.” He took her fingers and kissed them, and she knew he wasn't just putting her off.

            From the backdoor, she could hear Toby's little voice calling, “ _Sarah_!” For one heartbreaking moment, it was like nothing had ever changed – but everything had changed. Sarah knew that.

            She quickly rushed back into the house, hearing Jareth's unhurried step behind her, and smiled in the kitchen as Toby twirled slowly, and then faster and faster, all in a circle. “A tiger! Karen must have spent a lot of time on that costume.”

            “A _lot_ of time,” the woman sighed, but she smiled even as she did. Toby was obviously thrilled.

            “Will you take me trick-or-treating this year, Sarah?”

            Her throat constricted painfully. “Not this year, kiddo.”

            “But why? You're home now, aren't you?”

            She bit her lips and shook her head. “No. Can't go back to your kiddie bedroom when you're all grown up.”

            “How true.” Jareth was sliding his hand into the crook of her elbow, and Karen was hushing Toby before a tantrum of exhaustion and sadness began.

            “It's alright, Toby,” she reassured, picking the boy up; he was swiftly becoming too heavy, and Sarah felt a major pang for that. She was losing her brother's childhood, but perhaps more than that, how long before she could no longer pick up Bronwen? She had to get back. “I know it's sad, but we'll have a good time anyway, I promise.”

            “We have to go,” Sarah began, even as Jareth strode past her to the front door, waiting expectantly. Still, she hesitated, a hand on her father's arm. “But...but if I didn't come back for a while, you'd know how much I love you guys, wouldn't you?”

            “Sarah-” her father began, his voice a concerned chuckle.

            “Wouldn't you?” she insisted, green eyes wide and a little damp.

            He smiled and pulled her into an embrace. “Of _course_ we would, pumpkin. Nothing would ever change that...and we love you, as well.” Sarah sniffled slightly, and nodded; kissed her father on the cheeks, her brother on the lips, and even received a warm hug from Karen. She didn't want to say goodbye, but goodbyes had to be said. They were. She joined Jareth at the door.

            They stood in the dark for a moment, Sarah's head bowed, trying to control the riotous feelings that warred within her. Relief, happiness, despair, loss...mortal life was complicated, and so was immortal life, it seemed. No easy way to win. Still, she turned and looked at Jareth with clear, strong eyes. “I'm ready,” she nodded, and wrapped her arms around his torso, her head resting on his chest, waiting for the world to melt away. It didn't; he was chuckling at her close embrace. Her eyes slowly blinked open again. “W-what...”

            He was purring, running his gloved fingers through the perfect fall of her hair. “I have _one_ last gift for my darling little Queen...”

            “What is it?” she asked cautiously, tilting her head up to face him.

            “A surprise. Take me to the park.”

            “The park?”

            “You must remember. It's not far from here, I know, where you had all your little games of make believe.”

            “But how do you know about-”

            He silenced her with a soft press of his lips against her own. “The park, Sarah.” It was strange to walk there in the dark – stranger still with Jareth walking quietly along beside her. No words were exchanged in the tiny trek, just marching along past long-shuttered businesses and blinking stop lights. The park was a long, green paradise, dappled with trees and a lily-flecked pond. She remembered every single inch of it so well from childhood, and yet, it took on a different look in the dark – a little spooky, a little...exciting, she had to admit, wrapping her arms about herself to retain a little more heat. Jareth instead just held her in a tight embrace from behind for a moment, surveying all around them with a well-trained eye. “Hmm...and where is the little stone bench you used for your audience, dearest?”

            How did he know all these things? “That's across the foot bridge,” she hesitated, but he slipped his hand into hers. It was nice, his fingers were warm against the chill, October air.

            “Take me there.” She did, still quiet, eyes wide and round to make use of the minimal light. She couldn't stop a smile to see it, the place she'd so often performed to an audience of one, her dog. It felt a little intimate to be there with Jareth now.

            “So?” She turned to look at him, but he had moved away from her. “What's my surprise?”

            “A confession, of sorts.” He had wandered over to the stone obelisk that the art council had long ago put up.

            “I already know you're a baby snatcher.”

            “Ah,” he held up a finger and she could feel more than see his mouth smirking; his other hand rested against one of the smooth, stone sides of the point. “But did you also know I am a _hopeless_ romantic?”

            “This should be good.” Her breath caught in her throat, a tiny squeak, as he suddenly hauled himself on top of the cement statue with the grace of an acrobat. She bit her tongue to keep from telling him to be careful, but he balanced on the sloped sides as if it were the most natural thing in the world – and he beamed smugly at her from there.

            “Did you never notice, my sweet, during your theatrical performances, a bird sitting and watching you?”

            “A bird?”

            “An owl, to be more specific.” He raised a hand and beckoned her closer with a come-hither motion of his finger. Sarah wished he wouldn't do that, because his pose made her nervous. All the same, she stepped quietly toward him. “A barn owl.”

            Her breath was catching again. “You-?”

            “Me,” he said with a mocking look of apology on his smirking face. “I lay before you my greatest weakness, Sarah: you.”

            Before, she might have felt appalled. Strange as it was, she actually felt flattered, and wrapped her arms around herself again for more than the warmth. “Why?” It was all she could think to ask.

            “Because.” His voice was whisper quiet as he leaned closer to her, his lips a breath away. Sarah found herself leaning in without consciously willing it. “Who dreams like you, Sarah, darling? Who believes like you do? Who is faced with a challenge greater than all the world and still surmounts it?”

            She wet her lips wit her tongue and swallowed hard. “Me?”

            “Only you. This is not your present.”

            Her eyes closed and she gave a soft sigh. “What is it?”

            She heard, rather than saw, him slide down from the obelisk, his boots scraping against the concrete. “You were asking about helping you bring out more of your magic.” She nodded, eyes still closed. “You're a true Queen, you take power in the Underground. I feel safe helping you with... _this_.” His fingers were sliding through her hair, and yet it felt subtly different than any other time he'd caressed her – like it was a different kind of silky, or not as long, or thicker, or- “Open your eyes, my precious thing.”

            She did – and she was shorter, but still standing on the muddy edge of the pond. What...Sarah looked down into the water – and a black, bird face stared back at her. She gave a surprised scream, hopped backwards – nearly fell and yet found herself righting her position with her _wings_. Jareth was laughing at her, but it wasn't unkindly. “What...what-!” she was stammering – was she even speaking at all? She thought she heard herself screeching like an owl, she couldn't be sure, and she hopped closer to the water, staring at the smooth reflection. An owl, she _was_ an owl! The long curved beak and disk-shaped face of a barn owl, but all dark feathers in blacks and browns. The feathers that lined the circle of her face were all soft and brown, and rather than tawny wings with spots of grey, hers were all black. “I know what this is!” she cried, moving from foot to clawed foot. “It's the opposite of albinism, it's mela...mel...”

            “Melanistic,” he finished for her, and he reached down and guided her onto the smooth, thick leather of his sleeve. “A black barn owl. It stands to reason; your complexion is dark, not fair.”

            “Oh, Jareth!” Her wings were beating with excitement, she felt... _happy_! She preened her feathers and pulled out tufts of soft down with the greatest pride. “Look how beautiful I am!”

            His tone was very serious as he stroked one finger along her smooth feathers. “You are always beautiful, Sarah.” If she were herself, she might have blushed. Instead, she felt his lips press against the cold, smooth surface of her sharp beak, and felt the feathers melting away, her form stretching back into shape; it wasn't painful, more the warm sensation of stretching her muscles after a heavy sleep. His lips were still pressed against the bridge of her nose, and Sarah was smiling.

            Her eyes glittered as they met his gaze. “You'll teach me to fly?”

            “ _Oh, yes_.” His voice was husky and he pressed his mouth to hers. Sarah let him in, and a little gladly. “Shall we away, my precious thing?”

            Sarah's arms wrapped around him, indulged in the warmth he radiated. He was terrible – but he gave her gifts. Terrible and good, all in one man. Jareth was never boring. She nodded, and the pair disappeared from the park, leaving nothing behind but a small pooling of soft glitter. They had a little nestling at home to return to.


End file.
